To my sweet wife, Jayebird:
On Saturday, January 28, it will be fifty years since our wedding in Roosevelt Park. It was a mild, cloudless day in Albuquerque, 1973, and the odds were stacked against us. We were young and reckless but full of hope. And now we’re celebrating our Golden Anniversary.
Somehow ‒ despite the skeptics and the challenges ‒ we beat the odds!
It’s been a crazy roller coaster ride with all the ups and downs, the highs and lows, and the unforeseeable twists and turns. We’ve experienced many agonizing events but we never stopped the carnival. Laughter was always our elixir. We were growing up together and learning life’s lessons the hard way, all the while finding ourselves and our callings.
You gave birth to our precious little boy, Tait. But as fate would have it, at the age of two, our son was hospitalized. Not only was he suffering from acute kidney failure, he was diagnosed with autism. It was touch and go, and our emotions were running wild. A renal surgeon successfully operated on Tait but he had already lost three-quarters of his kidney function. He would require medical attention for the rest of his life.
The overwhelming challenge was his autism. He was hyperactive and a real handful but the two of us rose to the occasion. Together, with love and perseverance, we worked with Tait everyday for many years. You and I were deeply involved in his special ed, his therapies, medical procedures, pharmacology, Special Olympics, all the while making sure he was happy in his strange little world.
Tait became the epicenter of our universe. We learned all about devotion, selflessness, patience and compassion; and the real meaning of love, not only for our poor son but for other children like him. We had become a tactical team soldiering in an all-out war. We sadly had to place our teenage boy at the State Hospital and Training School at Los Lunas, New Mexico. Visiting him there was heart breaking and emotionally draining.
Remarkably, Tait somehow knew when we were coming and was waiting for us at the door every time. Leaving him at that door was another story.
Six weeks after he turned twenty-three, with his mother at his side, Tait finally died.
Our world came crashing down and I became a lost soul.
When I should have held you and comforted you, I broke your heart, leaving you for another woman. I moved to Santa Fe and you stayed in Pagosa – alone. But you made me promise that I’d call you everyday, and I did. Your undying love probably saved my life. After months of misery you accepted me back into your realm. We were together again, but I had to regain your trust in me. Not an easy task. I had to deal with my substance abuse and my bipolar disorder, once and for all.
But with your devotion I beat the devil at his own game.
At that point — twenty-six years ago — we began our new life. We became an invigorated couple, tempered like steel. I found out exactly what you mean to me, that I would be nothing without your sacred love. You are my woman and I am your man. You taught me everything about life: loyalty, understanding and forgiveness. And now when I make love to you, it’s like touching the face of God.
We’ve lived in Albuquerque, Dallas, Santa Fe, Honolulu, upcountry Maui, and Pagosa Springs, Colorado. We’ve traveled to many awe inspiring destinations, but we are settled — once and for all — in our cozy cottage atop our hill in Pagosa Country. With our little dog Punky, the latest in a long line of furry friends, we are content. Every morning you and I greet each other with smiles, glad to be close companions on this winding road of life. And when I gaze into your green eyes I see the reflection of a grateful man, glad to be alive in the presence of an angel.
No one could possibly know me better than you, my sweet girl. You’re my best friend.
In 2003, you were flown to the Heart Hospital in Albuquerque for an aortic valve replacement. And then a year later, you experienced a serious stroke. It was then that I realized what it meant to be a good husband: to take good care of you, to nurse you, to make up for all the times I let you down.
And now that we are in our seventies, we rely on one another like no other time in our fifty years together.
Sometimes I watch you sleep, counting every breath you take, and every single heartbeat. How many heartbeats do we have left in this world? You insist that I need to outlive you, that you refuse to carry on in a world without me. But what would I possibly be without you at my side?
Time is speeding up and slipping away. And if I could choose a place to die… it would be in your arms.
I love you, baby. Happy Anniversary!
DC has been a frustrated musician for over fifty years, and now has decided to become a frustrated writer. Learn more at DCDuncan.com. He’ll keep you posted.