Noah

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  she read the letter again, re slowly this ti, then read it a third ti before she put it bato the envelope. once re, she igined hiwriting it, and for a nt she debated reading another, but she knew shuldnt delay any longer. lon was waiting for her.

  her legs felt weak as she stepped out of the car. she paused and took a deep breath, and as she started across the parking lot, she realized she still wasnt sure what she was going to say to hi and the answer didnt finally e until she reached the door and ope and saw lon standing in the lobby.

  the story ends there, so i close the notebook, reveglasses, and wipeeyes. they are tired and bloodshot, but they have not failedso far. they will soon, i asure. her they nor igo o&a;a;lt;bdi&a;a;gt;&a;a;lt;/bdi&a;a;gt;n forever. i look to her now that i have finished, but she does not look back. instead she is staring out the window at thurtyard, where friends and faly et.

  my eyes follow hers, ach it together. in all these years the daily pattern has not ged. everyan hour after breakfast, they begin to arrive. young adults, alone or with faly, e to visit those who live here. they bring photographs and gifts aher sit on the benches or stroll along the tree-lined paths desigo give a sense of nature. so will stay for the day, but st leave after a few hours, and when they do, i always feel sadness for those theyve left behind. i wonder sotis whatfriends think as they see their loved ones driving off, but i know its notbusiness. and i do not ever ask thebecause ive learhat were all entitled to have our secrets. but soon, i will tell you so of ne.

  i place the notebook and gnifier oable beside , feeling the ache inbones as i do so, and i realize once again how y body is. even reading in the sun does nothing to help it. this does not surpriseanyre, though, forbody kes its own rules these days.

  inot pletely unfortunate, however. the people who work here knowandfaults and do their best to kere fortable. they have lefthot tea on the end table, and i reach for it with both hands. it is an effort to pour a cup, but i do so because the tea is o war and i think the exertion will keepfropletely rusting away. but i arusted now, no doubt about it. rusted as a junked car twenty years in the everglades (wetlands region in southern florida).

  i have read to her thisas i do everybecause it is sothing i st do. not for duty - although i suppose a casuld be de for this - but for another, re rontic, reason. i wish uld explain it re fully right now, but its still early, and talking about ronce isnt really possible before lunyre, at least not for . besides, i have no idea how its going to turn out, and to be ho, id rather not gethopes up.

  we spend ead every day together now, but hts are spent alohe doctors tellthat inot allowed to see her after dark. i uand the reasons pletely, and though i agree with the i sotis break the rules. late at night whenod is right, i will sneak fro rooand go to hers and watch her while she sleeps.

  of this she knows nothing. ill e in and see her breathe and know that had it not been for her, i would never have rried. and when i look at her face, a face i know better thanown, i know that i have ant as ore to her. and that ans re tothan uld ever hope to explain.

  sotis, when i astanding there, i think about how lucky i ato have been rried to her for alst forty-nine years.nth it will be that long. she heardsnore for the first forty-five, but sihen we have slept in separate roo. i do not sleep well without her. i toss and turn and yearn for her warh and lie there st of the night, eyes open wide, watg the shadows dance across the ceilings like tuleweeds rolling across the desert. i sleep two hours if i alucky, and still i wake before dawn. this kes no seo .

  soon, this will all be over. i know this. she does not. the entries indiary have bee shorter and take little ti to write.

  i keep thesile now, since st ofdays are the sa. but tonight i think i wilpy a poethat one of the nurses found forand thought i would enjoy. it goes like this:

  i neer was struck before that hour

  with love so sudden and so sweet,

  her face it blood like a sweet flower

  and stoleheart alete.

  because our evenings are our own, i have been asked to visit the others. usually i do, for i athe reader and i aneeded, or so i atold. i walk the halls and choose where to go because i atoo old to devote self to a schedule, but deep down i always know who needs . they arefriends, and when i push open their doors, i see roo that look like ne, always se-darkened, illunated only by the lights of wheel of fortune (抓阄转轮television ga shra and vannas teeth. the furniture is the sa for everyone, and the tvs blare because no onehear well anyre.

  men or won, they sle atwheer and speak in whispers as they turn off their sets. &a;a;a;quot;iso glad youve e,&a;a;a;quot; they say, and then they ask aboutwife.

  sotis i tell the i ght tell theof her sweetness and her charand describe how she taughtto see the world for the beautiful place it is. or i tell theof our early years together and explain how we had all we needed when we held each other uarry southern skies. on special oasions i whisper of our adveogether, of art shows in new york and paris or the rave (extrely positive review or critique) reviews frocritics writing in languages i do not uand. mostly, though, i sle and i tell thethat she is the sa, and they turn fro, for i know they do not wao see their faces. it rends theof their own rtality. so i sit with theao lessen their fears.

  be posed - be at ease with ...

  not till the sun excludes you do i exclude you,

  not till the waters refuse to glisten for you and the leaves to rustle for you,

  dowords refuse to glisten and rustle for you.

  and i read, to let theknow who i a

  i wander all night invision, bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of sleepers, wandering and fused, lost to self, ill-assorted, tradictory, pausing, gazing, bending, and stopping.

  if shuld,wife would apanyonevening excursions, for one of her ny loves oetry. thos, whit, shakespeare, and king david of the psal. lovers of words, kers of language.

  looking back, i asurprised bypassion for it, and sotis i eve it now. poetry brings great beauty to life, but also great sadness, and inot sure its a fair exge for sooneage. a n should enjoy other things if he ; he should spend his final days in the sun. mine will be spent by a reading la.

  i shuffle toward her and sit in the chair beside her bed. my back aches when i sit. i st get a new cushion for this chair, i rend self for the huh ti.

  i reach for her hand and take it, bony and fragile. it feels nice. she responds with a twitch, and gradually her thu begins to softly rubfinger. i do not speak until she does; this i have learned. most days i sit in sileil the sun goes down, and on days like those i know nothing about her.

  minutes pass before she finally turns to . she is g. i sle and release her hand, then reapocket. i take out a handkerchief and wipe at her tears. she looks atas i do so, and i wonder what she is thinking.

  &a;a;a;quot;that was a beautiful story.&a;a;a;quot;

  a light rain begins to fall. little drops tap gently on the window. i take her hand again. it is going to be a good day, a very good day. a gical day. i sle, i t help it.

  &a;a;a;quot;yes, it is,&a;a;a;quot; i tell her.

  &a;a;a;quot;did you write it?&a;a;a;quot; she asks. her voice is like a whisper, a light wind flowing though the leaves.

  &a;a;a;quot;yes,&a;a;a;quot; i answer.

  she turns toward the nightstand (night table, sll bedside table). her die is in a little cup. mioo. little pillslors like a rainbow so we woo take the they bring ne here now, to her roo even though theyre not supposed to.

  &a;a;a;quot;ive heard it before, havent i?

  &a;a;a;quot;yes,&a;a;a;quot; i say again, just as i do every ti on days like these. i have learo be patient.

  she studiesface. her eyes are as green as o waves.

  &a;a;a;quot;it kesfeel less afraid,&a;a;a;quot; she says.

  &a;a;a;quot;i kno;quot; i nhead softly.

  she turns away, and i wait so re. she releaseshand and reaches for her water glass. it is on her nightstand, o the die. she takes a sip.

  &a;a;a;quot;is it a true story?&a;a;a;quot; she sits up a little in her bed and takes another, drink. her body is still strong. &a;a;a;quot;i an, did you know these people?&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;yes,&a;a;a;quot; i say again. uld say re, but usually i dont. she is still beautiful.

  she asks the obvious: &a;a;a;quot;well, whie did she finally rry?&a;a;a;quot;

  i answer: &a;a;a;quot;the one who was right for her.&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;whie was that?&a;a;a;quot;

  i sle. &a;a;a;quot;youll kno;quot; i say quietly, &a;a;a;quot;by the end of the day. youll kno;quot;

  she&a;a;lt;cite&a;a;gt;&a;a;lt;/cite&a;a;gt; does not know what to think about this but does not questionfurther. instead she begins to fidget. she is thinking of a way to askanother question, though she isnt sure how to do it. instead she chooses to put it off for a nt and reaches for one of the little paper cups. &a;a;a;quot;is this ne?&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;no, this one is,&a;a;a;quot; and i reach over and push her die toward her. i ot grab it withfingers. she takes it and looks at the pills. itell by the way she is looking at thethat she has no idea what they are for. i use both hands to pick upcup and du the pills intouth. she does the sa. there is no fight today. that kes it easy. i raisecup in a ck toast and wash the gritty flavor fro uth withtea. it is gettinlder. she swallows on faith and washes thedown with re water.

  a bird starts to sing outside the window, ah turn our heads. we sit quietly for a while, enjoying sothiiful together. then it is lost, and she sighs. &a;a;a;quot;i have to ask you sothing else,&a;a;a;quot; she says.

  &a;a;a;quot;whatever it is, ill try to answer.&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;its hard, though.&a;a;a;quot;

  she does not look at , and i ot see her eyes. this is how she hides her thoughts.

  so things never ge.

  &a;a;a;quot;take your ti,&a;a;a;quot; i say. i know what she will ask.

  finally she turns toand looks intoeyes. she offers a gentle sle, the kind you share with a child, not a lover.

  &a;a;a;quot;i dont want to hurt your feelings because youve been so o , but...&a;a;a;quot;

  i wait. her words will hurt . they will tear a piece fro heart and leave a scar.

  &a;a;a;quot;who are you?&a;a;a;quot;

  we have lived at creekside extended care facility for three years now. it was her decision to e here, partly because it was near our ho, but also because she thought it would be easier for . we boarded up our ho because her of uuld bear to sell it, signed so papers, and just like that we received a place to live and die in exge for so of the freedofor which we had worked a lifeti.

  she was right to do this, ourse. there is no way uld have de it alone, for siess has e to us, both of us. we are in the final nutes in the day of our lives, and the clock is tig. loudly. i wonder if i athe only one whohear it.

  a throbbing paiurses throughfingers, and it rendsthat we have not held hands with fingers interlocked since we ved here. i asad about this, but it isfault, not hers. it is arthritis in the worst for rheutoid 风湿症and advanced. my hands are sshapen and grotesque now, and they throb during st ofwaking hours. i look at theand want thegone, autated, but then i would not be able to do the little things i st do. so i useclaws, as i call thesotis, and every day i take her hands despite the pain, and i dobest to hold thebecause that is what she wantsto do.

  although the bible says nlive to be 120, i dont want to, and i dont thinkbody would ke it even if i did. it is falling apart, dying one piece at a ti, steady erosion on the inside and at the joints. my hands are useless,kidneys are beginning to fail, andheart rate is decreasing every nth. worse, i have cer again, this ti of the prostate前列腺. this isthird bout with the unseen ene, and it will takeeventually, though not till i say it is ti. the doctors are worried about , but i anot. i have no ti for worry in this twilight oflife.

  of our five children, four are still living, and though it is hard for theto visit, they e often, and for this i athankful. but evehey arent here, they e alive innd every day, each of the and they bring to nd the sles and tears that e with raising a faly. a dozen pictures lihe walls ofroo they areheritage,tribution to the world. i avery proud. sotis i wonder whatwife thinks of theas she drea, or if she thinks of theat all, or if she even drea. there is so ch about her i dont uand anyre.

  i wonder whatdaddy would think oflife and what he would do if he were .

  i have not seen hifor fifty years and he is now but a shadow inthoughts. i ot picture hiclearly anyre; his face is darkened as if a light shines frobehind hi i anot sure if this is due to a failing ry or sily the passage of ti. i have only one picture of hi and this too has faded. in aen years it will be gone and so will i, and his ry will be erased like a ssage in the sand. if not fordiaries, i would swear i had lived only half as long as i have.

  long periods oflife seeto have vanished. and even now i read the passages and wonder who i was when i wrote the for i ot reer the events oflife. there are tis i sit and wonder where it all has gone.

  &a;a;a;quot;my na,&a;a;a;quot; i say, &a;a;a;quot;is duke.&a;a;a;quot; i have always been a john wayne fan.

  &a;a;a;quot;duke,&a;a;a;quot; she whispers to herself, &a;a;a;quot;duke.&a;a;a;quot; she thinks for a nt, her forehead wrinkled, her eyes serious.

  &a;a;a;quot;yes,&a;a;a;quot; i say, &a;a;a;quot;ihere for you.&a;a;a;quot; and always will be, i think to self.

  she flushes withanswer. her eyes bee wet and red, and tears begin to fall.

  my heart aches for her, and i wish for the thousandth ti that there was sothing uld do.

  she says: &a;a;a;quot;isorry. i dont uand anything thats happening toright now. even you. when i listen to you talk i feel like i should know you, but i dont. i dont even knowna.&a;a;a;quot;

  she wipes at her tears and says, &a;a;a;quot;help , duke, helpreer who i a or at least, who i was. i feel so lost.&a;a;a;quot;

  i answer fro heart, but i lie to her about her na. as i have aboutown. there is a reason for this.

  &a;a;a;quot;you are hannah, a lover of life, a strength to those who shared in your friendships.

  &a;a;a;quot;you are a drea a creator of happiness, an artist who has touched a thousand souls.

  &a;a;a;quot;youve led a full life and wanted for nothing because your needs are spiritual and you have only to look inside you. you are kind and loyal, and you are able to see beauty where others do not. you are a teacher of wonderful lessons, a drear of better things.&a;a;a;quot;

  i stop for a nt and catchbreath. then, &a;a;a;quot;hannah, there is no reason to feel lost, for:

  nothing is ever really lost, orbe lost, no birth, identity, for- no object of the world, nor life, nor foror any visible thing;...

  the body, sluggish, agedld - the eers left froearlier fires, ... shall duly fla again;&a;a;a;quot;

  she thinks about what i have said for a nt. in the silence, i look toward the window and notice that the rain has stopped now. sunlight is beginning to filter into her roo

  she asks: &a;a;a;quot;did you write that?&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;no, that was walt whitn.&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;who?&a;a;a;quot;

  &a;a;a;quot;a lover of words, a shaper of thoughts.&a;a;a;quot;

  she does not respond directly. instead she stares atfor a long while, until our breathing cides. in. out. in. out. in. out. deep breaths. i wonder if she knows i think shes beautiful.

  &a;a;a;quot;would you stay witha while?&a;a;a;quot; she finally asks.

  i sle and nod. she sles back. she reaches forhand, takes it gently, and pulls it to her waist. she stares at the hardened knots that defor fingers and caresses thegently. her hands are still those of an angel.

  &a;a;a;quot;e,&a;a;a;quot; i say as i stand with great effort, &a;a;a;quot;lets go for a walk. the air is crisp and the goslings (baby goose) are waiting. its beautiful today.&a;a;a;quot; i astaring at her as i say these last few words.

  she blushes. it kesfeel young again.

  she was faus, ourse. one of the best southern painters of the tweh tury, so said, and i was, and a proud of her.

  unlike , whled to write even the s&a;a;gt;?.&a;a;lt;/a&a;a;gt;ilest of verses,wifuld create beauty as easily as the lord created the earth. her paintings are in seu around the world, but i have kept only two for self. the first one she ever gaveand the last ohey hang inroo and late at night i sit and stare and sotis cry when i look at the i dont know why.

  and so the years passed. we led our lives, w, painting, raising children, loving each other. i see photos of christses, faly trips, of graduations and of weddings.

  i see grandchildren and happy faces. i see photos of us, our hair growing whiter, the lines in our faces deeper. a lifeti that see so typical, yet unon.

  wuld not foresee the future, but then who ? i do not live now as i expected to. and what did i expect? retirent. visits with the grandchildren, perhaps re travel. she always loved to travel. i thought that perhaps i would start a hobby, what i did not know, but possibly shipbuilding. in bottles. sll, detailed, iossible to sider now withhands. but i anot bitter.

  our lives t be asured by our final years, of this i asure, and i guess i should have known what lay ahead in our lives. looking back, i suppose it see obvious, but at first i thought her fusion uandable and not unique. she would fet where she placed her keys, but who has not dohat? she would fet a neighbors na, but not soone we knew well or with whowe socialized. sotis she would write the wrong year when she de out her checks, but again i disssed it as sile stakes that one kes when thinking of other things. it was not until the re obvious events ourred that i began to suspect the worst.

  an iron in the freezer, clothes in the dishwasher, books in the oven. other things, too. but the day i found her in the car three blocks away, g over the steering wheel because shuldnt find her way ho was the first day i was really frightened.

  and she was frighteoo, for when i tapped on her window, she turoand said, &a;a;a;quot;oh god, whats happening to ? please help .&a;a;a;quot; a knot twisted instoch, but i dared not think the worst.

  six days later the doet with her and began a series of tests. i did not uand thethen and i do not uand thenow, but i suppose it is because i aafraid to know. she spent alst an hour with dr. barnwell, and she went back theday.

  that day was the lo day i ever spent. i looked through gazines uld not read and played gas i did not think about. finally he called us both into his offid sat us down. she heldarfidently, but i reer clearly thatown hands were shaking.

  &a;a;a;quot;iso sorry to have to tell you this,&a;a;a;quot; dr. barnwell began, &a;a;a;quot;but you seeto be in the early stages of alzheirs ... &a;a;a;quot;

  myblank, and all uld think about was the light that glowed above our heads.

  the words echoed inhead: the early stages of alzheirs . . .

  my world spun in circles, and i felt her grip tighten onar she whispered, alst to herself: &a;a;a;quot;oh, noah... noah...&a;a;a;quot;

  and as the tears started to fall, the word ca bae again:... alzheirs...

  it is a barren disease, as ety and lifeless as a desert. it is a thief of hearts and souls and ries. i did not know what to say to her as she sobbed onboso so i sily held her and rocked her bad forth.

  the doctor was gri he was a good n, and this was hard for hi he was youhanyou, and i feltage in his presence. my nd was fused,love was shaking, and the only thing uld think was:

  no drowning nknow which drop of water his last breath did stop;...

  a wise poets words, yet they broughtno fort. i dont know what they ant or why i thought of the

  we rocked to and fro, and allie,dreatiless beauty, toldshe was sorry.

  i khere was nothing tive, and i whispered in her ear. &a;a;a;quot;everything will be fine,&a;a;a;quot; i whispered, but inside i was afraid. i was a hollow n with nothing to offer, ety as a juovepipe (火炉的烟囱).

  i reer only bits and pieces of dr. barnwells tinuing explanation.

  &a;a;a;quot;its a degeive brain disorder affeg ry and personality . . . there is no cure or therapy ... theres no way to tell how fast it will progress.., it differs froperson to person ... i wish i knew re ... so days will be better than others … it will grow worse with the passage of ti … isorry to be the one who has to tell you … &a;a;a;quot;

  isorry...

  isorry...

  isorry...

  everyone was sorry. my children were brokeed,friends were scared for theelves.

  i dont reer leaving the doctors office, and i dont reer driving ho.

  my ries of that day are gone, and in thiswife and i are the sa.

  it has been four years now. sihen we have de the best of it, if that is possible.

  allie anized, as was her disposition. she de arras to leave the house and ve here. she rewrote her will and sealed it. she left specific burial instrus, and they sit indesk, itodrawer. i have not seen the and when she was finished, she began to write. letters to friends and childreers to brothers and sisters anusins. letters to nieces, nephews, and neighbors. and a letter to .

  i read it sotis when i ain the od, and when i do, i arended of allie old winter evenings, seated by a r fire with a glass of wi her side, reading the letters i had written to her over the years. she kept the these letters, and now i keep the for she deprose to do so. she said i would know what to do with the she was right; i find i enjoy reading bits and pieces of thejust as she used to. they intrigue , these letters, for when i sift through thei realize that rond passion are possible at any age. i see allie now and know ive never loved her re, but as i read the letters, i e to uand that i have always felt the sa way.

  i read thelast three evenings ago, long after i should have been asleep. it was alst two oclock when i went to the desk and found the stack of letters, thid tall ahered. i uhe ribbon, itself alst half a tury old, and found the letters her ther had hidden so long ago and those froafterward. a lifeti of letters, letters professinglove, letters fro heart. i glahrough thewith a sle onface, pig and choosing, and finally opened a letter froour first anniversary.

  i read an excerpt:

  when i see you now - ving slowly with new life growing inside you - i hope you know how ean to , and how special this year has been. no n is re blessed than , and i love you with allheart.

  i put it aside, sifted through the stack, and found ahis frold evening thirty-nine years ago.

  sittio you, while our you daughter sang off-key in the school christs show, i looked at you and saride that es only to those who feel deeply in their hearts, and i khat no uld be re lucky than .

  and after our sohe one who reseled his ther . . . it was the hardest ti we ever went through, and the words still ring true today:

  in tis of grief and sorrow i will hold you and rock you, and take yrief and ke itown. when you cry, i cry, and when you hurt, i hurt. and together we will try to hold back the floods of tears and despair and ke it through the potholed (hole in the ground/surface of a road) streets of life.

  i pause for just a nt, reering hi he was four years old at the ti, just a baby. i have lived twenty tis as long as he, but if asked, i would have tradedlife for his. it is a terrible thing to outlive your child, a tragedy i wish upon no one.

  i dobest to keep the tears away, sift through so re to clearnd, and find thefroour tweh anniversary, sothing ch easier to think about:

  when i see you,darling, in the before showers or in your studivered with paint with hair tted and tired eyes, i know that you are the st beautiful won in the world.

  they went on, thirrespondence of life and love, and i read dozens re, soa;lt;tt&a;a;gt;99lib?t&a;a;gt;e painful, st heartwarng. by three oclock i was tired, but i had reached the bottoof the stack. there was oer reining, the last one i wrote her, and by then i knew i had to keep going.

  i lifted the seal and reved both pages. i put the sed page aside and ved the first page into better light and began to read:

  my dearest allie, the porch is silent except for the sounds that float frothe shadows, and for once i aat a loss for words. it is a strange experiene, for when i think of you and the life we have shared, there is eer. a lifeti of ries. but to put it into words? i do not know if i aable. i anot a poet, a a poeis o fully express the way i feel about you.

  sond drifts, and i reer thinking about our life together as i dffee thiskate was there, and so was jane, and they both beca quiet when i walked i. i saw theyd been g, and without a word, i sat self beside theat the table aheir hands. and do you know what i saw when i looked at the i saw you froso long ago, the day we said good-bye. they resele you and how you were theiful aive and wounded with the hurt that es when sothing special is taken away. and for a reason inot sure i uand, i was inspired to tell thea story.

  i called jeff and david into the kit, for they were here as well, and when the children were ready, i told theabout us and how you ca bae so long ago.

  i told theabout our walk, and the crab dinner i, and they listened with sles when they heard about the oe ride, and sitting in front of the fire with the sting outside. i told theabout your ther warning us about lon theday - they seed as surprised as we were - and yes, i even told thewhat happened later that day, after you went back to town.

  that part of the story has never left , even after all this ti. even though i wasnt there, you described it toonly once, and i reer rveling at the strength you showed that day. i still agine what was going through your nd when you walked into the lobby and saw lon, or how it st have felt to talk to hi you toldthat the two of you left the inn and sat on a bench by the old methodist church, and that he held your hand, even as you explaihat you st stay.

  i know you cared for hi and his rea proves tohe cared for you as well.

  no, huld not uand losing you, but hould he? even as you explaihat you had always loved , and that it wouldnt be fair to hi he did not release your hand. i know he was hurt and angry, and tried for alst an hour to ge your nd, but when you stood firand said, &a;a;a;quot;i t go back with you, iso sorry,&a;a;a;quot; he khat your decision had been de. you said he sily nodded and the two of you sat together for a long ti without speaking. i have always wondered what he was thinking as he sat with you, but isure it was the sa way i felt only a few hours before. and when he finally walked you to your car, you said he told you that i was a lucky n. he behaved as a gentlen would, and i uood then why your choice was so hard.

  i reer that when i fihe story, the roowas quiet until kate finally stood to erace . &a;a;a;quot;oh, daddy,&a;a;a;quot; she said with tears in her eyes, and though i expected to aheir questions, they did not ask any. instead, they gavesothing ch re special.

  for thefour hours, each of thetoldhow ch we, the two of us, had ant to thegrowing up. one by ohey told stories about things i had long siten.

  and by the end, i was g because i realized how well we had doh raising the i was so proud of the and proud of you, and happy about the life we have led. and nothing will ever take that away. nothing. i only wish you would have beeo enjoy it with .

  after they left, i rocked in silehinking ba our life together. you are always here withwhen i do so, at least inheart, and it is iossible forto reer a ti when you were not a part of . i do not know who i would have bee had you never e bae that day, but i have no doubt that i would have lived and died with regrets that thankfully ill never know.

  i love you, allie. i awho i abecause of you. you are every reason, every hope, and every dreaive ever had, and no tter what happens to us iure, every day we are together is the greatest day oflife. i will always be yours.

  and,darling, you will always be ne.

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