A 56-Year Valentine: Mokena Man Shares the Life of the Love of his Life

Editor's note: This e-mail arrived on Feb. 12 in response to past calls for "How We Met" stories. Beyond minor changes to match Patch style, it has been left unaltered, as the author intended.

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While it was cathartic to pen the following, I'd rather keep it anonymous, in case you feel like using any of it. Those who know us, know it—those who don't probably don't need to.

I first saw her in second grade. We were practicing to make our First Communion, and she played the piano as we rehearsed our songs. I instantly formed a crush, for, in those days, crushes came quickly and frequently. I'd see her and she'd notice me through our grammar school days, but she never really paid an interest until we were together in a group at a high school football game when we were in the eighth grade. She was on one end, and I was on the other, and the person next to me handed me half of a Baby Ruth, and said it was from her. Well, I couldn't breathe when she looked all the way down the bench we were sitting on to see my reaction. From that point on, we spent as much time together as we could for the rest of the school year.

High school brought an on again, off again relationship, since she attended the girl's school and I attended the boy's, until our senior year when she called to lay it on the line: did I or did I not want to go to her prom with her. My response: only if you go to mine with me.

I went off to school and she stayed home and went to beauty school. We continued dating throughout my college years, though there were instances neither of us were sure what we wanted. By my junior year, I gave her a ring and that was that. She worked hard as a beautician, saving so we could buy a new car, and I continued on and got my degree, since her mother would not let us get married until I did. Finally married a month after college, we settled into a cozy apartment and started our lives together as one.

We scrimped and saved, and 18 months later bought a house, which was fortunate, since she was pregnant and had our first son that December. She worked a while longer, until our second son was due two years later, but fortunately, I had established myself and she was able to become a stay-at-home mom. We had one more son, and, while I was certainly a rather poor example of a husband and father, I was a good provider, and she was a wonderful wife and mother.

Now that I am retired and have spent the last eight years home, we have become closer than we ever were, which makes this Valentine's Day so devastating. Instead of a lovely dinner over candlelight with the girl I first saw nearly 56 years ago, she'll be receiving her first chemotherapy treatment for cancer. Sometimes, life just doesn't seem fair.

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