Slouching into Oblivion

I have been married twice. My first marriage lasted 20 years and my second 25. And, on reflection, I am ashamed to admit that while I was fond of both, in retrospect I was in love with neither. My first marriage could be summarized in a photo of two children pretending to be adults. She was, and is, a fine woman. The truth is she deserved better than she got. My second marriage was pure heat. Nothing less, but mostly nothing more. When I began dating Lorena Alcala after being separated a year from my second wife, I knew. I knew that everything I had ever believed about love was altogether wrong from the start. While objectively she was not the woman I was looking for, I knew deep within she was the woman I wanted. I needed. She said the words first. “I love you, Jim.” And I felt ashamed I had not told her first. Because I did love her. And I knew it. I was a coward. I knew I had a good relationship, the best I had ever had. And so I feared something bad was going

A question I have often asked since Lorena died. And I arrive at different answers depending on the day, the hour, even the minute. On those days I am distracted by friends or business, I want to live just to see how it all turns out. On days I stare at photos of my lost love, I think not. There will never be another like her. I know that. But I have concluded there is more to living that my desires and my needs. I wake and see Milo and Kira, my long-time canine companions, sleeping in their beds next to mine. And I know they need me. I have three amazing children and while they are independent and no longer need me economically, there is that occasional call looking for my thoughts and experience. I have a handful of friends, many who have been essential to my understanding and acceptance of what has happened. So, while I don’t always have a desire to continue, I have a need to do so. For others. Perhaps ending one’s own pain is selfish when compared with the pain others wil