My life was good. I had a wonderful husband, Buddy, who had built my dream house for us. Our only child, our daughter Jean, had recently married and was living in another town. Buddy and I were just settling into it being just the two of us when the unthinkable happened just after I turned 39.
It was a Friday. Buddy and his brother owned a fertilizer plant, and during slack times, Buddy had been building a horse trailer for our favorite niece, Holly, so that she could bring her pony to our house from time to time. He usually got home a little after five, but that day he had almost completed his labor of love, so he stayed late at work to put the finishing touches on the trailer. He couldn't wait to surprise Holly. His plan was to take her to the plant the next day to unveil her unexpected gift.
Buddy got home about seven that night, and we had our usual Friday-night meal, grilled steaks and baked potatoes. It had become sort of a tradition with us. After dinner, we watched some TV, but by about nine o'clock, Buddy said he was unusually tired and wanted to go to bed. This was strange because he always stayed up late on Friday nights to watch Johnny Carson. I went to bed with him.
Hours later I woke up to find Buddy sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing funny. He said he was short of breath and that his chest felt heavy. I immediately called my sister, Billie, who was a registered nurse. She lived just down the street. Then I called our family physician, Dr. Flowers. This was back when doctors made house calls. I ran downstairs to unlock the door for Billie, and we both bolted back up the stairs.
We found Buddy lying on the bed, motionless. Billie instructed me to go back downstairs and wait for Dr. Flowers. I did as she asked, and as I waited helplessly, I began praying. I knew Buddy was having a heart attack, and I begged God not to take him. I needed him and did not think I could survive without him. I don't know how many prayers I uttered. It seemed like an eternity until the doctor arrived, but I'm sure it was only a few minutes. Finally, I saw headlights in the drive. I ushered Dr. Flowers in and hurried him up the stairs to find Billie performing CPR on my husband. I heard him gasp for breath, so I was sure he'd be okay, especially now that our doctor was here to help. Billie led me back downstairs as Dr. Flowers took over.
A short time later, Dr. Flowers appeared, ashen faced, shaking his head. I knew Buddy was dead. My whole life was gone. This was a man I had known my entire life. We had grown up together. Our families owned adjoining farms, and I could never remember a time when he was not part of my existence. The utter pain, the feeling of devastating loss, was unimaginable. My first thoughts were of Jean. How was I going to tell her that her beloved father was gone?
The next few days were a blur, and frankly, I don't remember much about them. Jean and I went through the traditional motions like two robots. After a week, Jean had to return to work. For the first time in my life, I was truly alone. I had never spent a single night by myself, but now I would have to learn.
The first year was the hardest. I honestly did not think I would survive, and at times, I did not want to survive. At noon and in the evenings, I often found myself haf-expecting Buddy's truck to pull up the driveway. Somehow, through prayer and the support of family and friends, I made it through those first difficult months, and as more time passed, it became a little easier. It was still painful, but it wasn't that razor-sharp pain. It had subsided to more of an ache.
My family encouraged me to date again since I was still fairly young. Friends "set me up" with several nice men, but I guess I always subconsciously compared them to Buddy, and they all fell short. I think part of me felt that by having interest in another man, I would be betraying Buddy's memory.
Nine years after Buddy's death, I attended a homecoming at my childhood church and became acquainted with the minister there. Bob's wife had died a few years earlier, and we seemed to hit it off immediately. We dated for almost a year and then got married.
Bob and I are very happy. He's nothing like Buddy, and I never find myself comparing the two wonderful men. I still miss Buddy from time to time, and my love for him will never die. But I feel whole again. I have another soul mate, someone to confide in and to share intamacy with. I love Bob just as much as I loved Buddy, which I never thought would be possible. But the loves are different somehow. I can't explain it in mere words. I do know, however, that I have been truly blessed to experience true love not once, but twice in my lifetime.