I married the son of a man who served during WWII; a marine and renegade of sorts who defied convention, swore like a sailor, picked a gorgeous girl to marry and definitely had a lot of James Dean in him.
His son, after growing up with a dad who lived precariously close to the edge, seeks to live a little more within the bounds yet craves the excitement of the outdoors, endless ski runs, camping, hunting and fishing. He was likely a cowboy in a previous lifetime. He would have gotten along famously with Doc Holiday; they share a cynical/dry wit, interest in more than the mundane and carry a fierce loyalty to those they love.
Somehow he chose me to share life’s journey and though I know I have kept his balloon tethered to the ground more often than he would like, we have shared great joy, adventure, wins, losses and heartbreaking tragedy.
Today makes 31 years and we still write “love you so madly’ on our anniversary cards. Looking back, I know the guy upstairs was looking out for me when he brought Greg into my life. He’s my ‘western rock’. After inviting me to dinner this evening he said “Try not to do a swan dive“.