Well, I guess I died that night. The night that she did. And the split second after, I guess I started my second life. Couldn’t call it living though, more like just existing. Wasn’t really looking forward to having much of a life without her. Didn’t care about much anymore. I had promised to take care of her kids. They were all but grown and not really looking for Dad’s help much anymore. None too sure I was going to have much to look forward to. Not morbid, just fact. Couldn’t see me in that dating mode again. Too much water under the bridge, too many memories. I was caught in that whirlpool of self-pity and spiraling down toward depression. Next stop... Well, wasn’t real sure about that either. Had figured, if she could, she’d save me a good place for my rocking chair on a great big veranda somewhere. Was looking forward to that. Knew what lay ahead that way, just had trouble focusing my bifocals. I have always heard about second chances. Someone, somewhere who had made a mistake or two was to get a new beginning, slate rubbed clean, new watercolors to paint their canvas of life. I never made those mistakes, I didn’t think, so I didn’t need, want or deserve a second chance. I was happy with the first one. She was always there when I woke in the mornings and always there beside me when we killed the lights at night. Not a bad plan if you asked me. But... now that could be a big word (and some I’ve seen have been), she was my Goldilocks and the three bears, juuuust right. She prodded when I needed a push, she cradled me when the tears came and she always helped me see the light. Well, you get the picture. I could sing her praises from now till Doomsday but maybe I’ll just keep them under my breath lest this get a tad too mushy. Oh yeah, my second life. Where do I get to say Geronimo and pull my ripcord? Lord, save me from having to deal with a second life.
Robert Lea Lovejoy