Thoughts of an unsuccessful, never married, late middle-aged, likely terminally ill American man.
Monday, December 19, 2011
It's hard to believe, isn't it?
It's hard to believe that the 91-year-old man who lay dying, gasping for air on a hospital bed, unresponsive for two days, was ever a young man who grinned easily and had over half a century of healthy years before him. I found a letter a woman had written to my father during World War II, years before he met my mother. They were far apart and he'd surprised her with a telephone call. "Hearing your voice was like rain in the desert," she wrote.
No one's ever said that about me.
My father in his Navy uniform during World War II.