By Carol Campbell Reed, KERA 90.1 commentator.
Dallas, TX – Dad fell in love again last year with his first grade sweetheart, Frances. That's where they first met, and as soon as they learned to read and write some they exchanged little notes in class: "I love you. Do you love me?" "I love you, too."
Though they dated in their teens, they married others. My mother died in 1996 and Dad still says she was his bride for fifty-nine years. "Sweetie," as Dad likes to refer to Frances, was married to the same man for years. She cared for him until he lost his battle with Alzheimer's disease.
Last September, Frances's cousin urged Dad to go visit her in a nursing center where she was recovering from a hip replacement. "I know she would enjoy seeing you." So Dad visited her. They talked the entire afternoon. They had grown up in the same area so knew the same people. They recalled the same events. They both had vivid memories of the first grade and their love notes sent back and forth across the aisles.
As Dad walked back to his car he reflected on the visit, the words, the laughter and old feelings and yearnings returned. Rushing back to her, he expressed those feelings. "You were my childhood sweetheart and now I want to claim you as my golden years sweetheart. Is that all right with you?" "Well, of course it?s all right with me."
He travels daily, the seven miles, to visit her, bringing her books to read; and endures the traffic of the big city to go to their favorite teen-age haunt for hot dogs. He peels oranges for her in his kitchen, removing the bitter white membrane just the way he did for my mother when she was alive. For Valentine's Day he gave her red roses, a card, and a box of chocolates. He even insisted on making the red bow that wrapped the vase himself even though he had never made a bow in his eighty-nine years.
At Christmas time he wanted to visit her dressed in his red shirt with a green bow tie. He had gone to the barbers for a trim that morning and had his slacks and jacket properly brushed off. Yet he struggled in his bedroom with the bow tie that wouldn?t cooperate. "Would you please come in here and give me a hand with this thing," he asked me. As I tucked and folded around his neck I watched us both in the dresser mirror. "Dad, where do I get the feeling that somewhere we have traded places? I'm helping you dress for a date."
Dad would really like to marry Frances, take her home with him, and care for her the remainder of their days. She seems content in her present living situation. Her hip has mended well and she walks the halls of the nursing center getting her strength back.
Frances never had children. She has two nieces in New Mexico who want her to come live with them when the doctor releases her. She has lived within the same five-mile radius her entire life and really wants to continue living in familiar surroundings.
In the mean time Dad and Frances take one day at a time. They attempt to crowd as much living and loving as they can into each day. Dad looks forward to spring when he plants his annual vegetable garden. Guess who will get the first and best of the crop? That's all right.
Carol Campbell Reed is a writer in Dallas.