by Sharon Smith

Created on: April 25, 2009   Last Updated: May 05, 2009

When I was eighteen years old, I met the love of my life, Jeff, at the University of Kentucky. We had accounting class together, and he asked to copy my homework since he had been working at the local bar as a bartender and not even opened the book. My best friend, Betty Jo, and I were amused by him. He did not conform to any particular clique, but he seemed to mingle with all of them. Betty Jo and I started hanging out with him and doing homework together. The three of us became inseparable. Jeff and I both lived in Lexington, while Betty Jo went home to Florence, Kentucky frequently leaving Jeff and I alone.

After six months, Jeff and I took our friendship to an intimate level. We decided not to tell anyone, we were already established as best friends, and we didn't want our friends to treat us differently since "nothing really had changed". The rationalization of my youth makes no sense to me now, since we announced our engagement in April to no surprise of our friends.

In the twenty years of our marriage, we had our ups and downs. Living with Jeff was always an adventure, never a dull moment. We had five beautiful children together. We both loved kids, we both loved parenting, we both loved each other. We had what everyone hoped for in a marriage. We were together, through the better or for worse, through good times and bad, til death do us part... and so it did.

On February 4th the state trooper showed up at my door to tell me that Jeff had been in a car accident at 2:00A A.M. and died instantly after he lost control of his car after a thunderstorm. I knew something was wrong since he hadn't come home, but when that Florida State Patrol Car pulled onto my property, my world fell apart.

Trooper Carr was very professional, but yet compassionate, in her attempt tell me what had happened and what steps I had to do to "claim the remains" of my beloved Jeff. I saw no need to tell the children until school let out, at which time I called the older two over and told them all at the same time. They all cried, except, our only son, Brandon.

By the grace of God, the funeral was planned, a perfectly orchestrated tribute to a man who had touched so many lives. Friends and family came from all over the country. Cousins I had only met handful of times in our twenty years showed up. Everyone chipped in and produced a wonderful reception at our home. As I sat in my rocking chair, in disbelief that we had just buried the center of my universe, the people, each one a memory

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