How I Met Leslie

Any story is as long or short as you care to make it.  I met my present and forever wife exactly twice before we were actually aquainted.  The first time she was frightened of me, the second she offered to help me hospice my father.  When he passed, I talked her into marrying me.  The end.

Of course, this does no justice to the reality of life. Some time ago my 4-year-younger sister entered a nursing home, body destroyed by severe type 1 diabetes.  I moved into her rental house, partly to be there for her young daughter, and partly because I was destitute (thanks to my then-wife's rubber-check habit) and needed a place for my own kids.
 
One day my recently-divorced friend Lee came by and with him was his new girlfriend from St. Louis.  Lee, at his best, was a jerk.  We were friends mostly because I could put up with him, though I did respect his natural intelligence.  It was a visit in passing, and she didn't get out of the car, but Lee insisted on an introduction.  She seemed shy, even standoffish, but I leaned through the car window and gave her a little hug anyway.  They went on their way and so did I.

Dad's first cancer was discovered shortly thereafter.  My wife went to prison; bad checks again and that last time we couldn't fix it.  Checking on the prostate cancer, the doctors found a spot on Dad's kidney.  Months later my wife got out of prison and I was determined to give us one last chance.  I found it quite difficult to do.  My sister died that Christmas morning.  The doctors finally found Dad's inoperable spine cancer.  My brother died, another victim of diabetes.  My brother's funeral was one of the last times my father left his home.  At my father's request, my brother's widow and I helped a local home health group hospice him.

During this time my best friend Mark was a haven.  I would spend time there, often having long game sessions.  One bad evening I went to a party at his house, partly because Mark told me he wanted me to meet someone, mostly to get away from my then-wife.  I didn't really know most of the people, but that was okay.  Strolling through the party I came upon a woman sitting by herself; my memories may be colored by love, but I remember how the light seemed to pick her out from the rest.  She seemed somehow familiar and quite alone; I was drawn to speak with her.

She was Leslie, the woman Lee had introduced to me what seemed long ago.  We talked for a time, though I don't remember exactly what about.  I learned that Lee had dumped her and returned to St. Louis, that I seemed scary our first meeting, she was of Jewish descent, working at a local hospital,and she was more than a little high.  What I felt was this was a sensible, sexy, honest person.  Okay, I remember a little.  When she found out I was hospicing my father, she immediately offered to help.  Later it turned out she was who Mark wanted me to meet.  Thereafter we saw each other most every day.
 
In short order my then wife started bouncing checks again and I left her to move in with my father.  His condition was worsening and he needed 24 hour help anyway.  I got divorced, filed for bankruptcy, and through all this Leslie was there, quietly helping me cope.  We shared life and suffering and snuck in some sex now and then.  We agreed on many things, and not once did it seem she changed just to suit me - which made me appreciate her strength and dedication all the more.

When Dad passed, we found a place together.  She said she was happy to just be with me, but I persisted until she gave in and agreed to marry me.  We took some time off of our respective jobs and took a leisurely, romantic drive through the Ozark Mountains, ended up at a wedding chapel in Boone County, Arkansas.  On the eighth day of the eighth month of 1998 we were married.  She is my treasure of golden hair and unmatched wisdom.  We are living happily ever after.

Not The End.