She is long lost in a black oblivion. Three years and seven months lost, as of today.
And yet I can’t get her out of my mind.
I was, variously, throughout thirty-four years of marriage, the love of her life, a jackass who treated her ‘like shit,’ and her best friend.
The latter description is my saving grace. If it had ended with me treating her like shit, I doubt if I’d still be here to share these personal thoughts with all of my three readers. Too personal, you say — a blog is a chronicle of personal reflections — so be it.
We married each other relatively late in life, right around forty, each of us with a fairly long list of previous relationships, good, bad and disastrous. We both knew several of our old flames, and some we wanted to kill and some we respected. Either way, and for whatever reason, we ended up with each other, in front of a Justice of the Peace in Vancouver, British Columbia.
In a private ceremony on the balcony of a house in the mountains with a view of the lights of Vancouver, we put the rest of our lives in each other’s trust and care, and then we went back to our hotel room, smoked weed and watched Easy Rider on the Late Movie.
It was the greatest night of my life.
And now, thirty-seven years and seven months later, in a bungalow in Upstate New York, I smoke weed and watch Easy Rider on TV and I am still on that balcony in the mountains above Vancouver. I will always be there, until oblivion claims me too.