“Death ends a life, not a relationship.”
― Mitch Albom, Tuesdays with Morrie

My Dearest,

I walk through the door hoping I will find you sitting up and smiling a hello. Once again, my hopes are dashed. I watch you as I wait. My heart is breaking. I listen to your breathing, my life hinging on your next breath.

You look so peaceful and youthful. It is as if you have lost thirty years. During the thirty-eight years I have loved you, peaceful is a word I would rarely use, beautiful, a word I always used.

You once described one of your players as your “bull in a China shop.” It is a description I could apply to you as well. Remember your little red VW Bug? When I questioned the safety of your brakes you shrugged and said, “Who needs brakes? I have a horn.”

There was only one speed with you and it was Warp Factor Nine, wide open. Somehow you managed to pull it off with grace and elegance…even dressed in your ten-year-old sweats and always wearing purple.

You always waltzed to the music only you heard. You did it in a genteel and lady like manner, even when coaching. Everyone knew who was in charge and knew when your mind was made up you would not be dissuaded. Right was right even if it was your right.

It was kismet meeting on the press box at Eastside High. Later there was the Halloween pumpkin on your head and a brutal trip to Charleston with your ex-boyfriend. I thing I knew then but it took nearly a year of dancing around each other before we decided to dance together.

Neither of us were looking to fall in love. I had been bitten twice and you thought you were looking for the perfect man. For some reason you asked me out after trying to fix me up with all your friends. It may have been pity; I like to think it was by karmic design.  

I asked a question I swore I would never ask again. You decided perfect was not what it was cracked up to be and said yes without hesitation. For thirty-seven years I have been blessed with your love, support, and enthusiasm. For thirty-seven years you have been blessed with an imperfect mate. I’m sure my most redeeming quality was allowing you to have your head like the unbroken filly you were.

Our life was a life easy to laugh about. Stories of biddies falling out of trees, a baby goat being raised in our only bathroom. A fully grown goat falling into our well or a naked woman being chased from the bathroom by an equally naked rat snake.

Epic road trips on a whim, many using your “shortcuts” to make sure the enjoyment would raise questions such as “Are you sure you know where you are going.” One that ended at a warm Georgetown bar on a windy, bitter night. A warm bar that included shrimp and grits, Jack Daniels, and a bluesy singer behind a grand piano.

I could go on but instead I will promise that our grand babies will hear about their grandmother. I promise they will remember their Grandmommy Linda.

Everything was not laughter and giggles. We had our share of what I called “clearing off showers.” Thunderclaps and torrents of rain would give way to freshly cleansed air. Life would settle down and it was good.

I’m not ready for you to leave me. This wasn’t the way it should be. Still, I am thankful for the time we had together.

You have fought hard. It is time for you to rest and lay your burden down. It is time for you to step into the light. Time to start your next great adventure. Time to prepare for when I join you.

You are loved more than you could ever know. Rest now, my darling, rest now.

Your love, Donald.

Linda Porter-Miller passed March 29, Good Friday.