Life Is Short, Live It

Love is rare, grab it.

A few days ago, I came across a saying that really struck home with me: “Life is short, live it. Love is rare, grab it. Anger is bad, dump it. Fear is awful, face it. Memories are sweet, cherish it.” The person who came up with these words of wisdom is unknown, but it could be the story of my life, and perhaps yours.

When I was young, I thought life flowed forward with countless days of sunshine. I had that invincible conviction so common to the young. Eventually, I found out how short life was as the hard hand of death entered my life. Schoolmates died from terminal diseases when I was young. In early adulthood, the terminators included drug overdoses and car wrecks.

I also learned at an early age how rare true love is. Of course, I had my heart broken a few times, but when Jim entered my life, it was an entirely different experience. I found out what it meant to love and be loved without reservation, fearlessly, and with all my heart. Then, love blossomed with the birth of our sons, and later when our grandchildren were born.

Jim and I faced the world together, united. I had his back, and he always had mine. He was my protector, my best friend, and my love. When dementia struck, we faced the awful fear of the unknown along with the predictable outcome of the known. When Jim died, I was reminded of the shortness of life, the heartbreak of love lost, and the empty spot that replaced the part of myself that died.

I’ve never been a person to wallow in self-pity so I dumped the anger and began to pick up the pieces. I found happiness with my family and friends. I kept busy—oh, my, have I ever kept busy. My life became full and rich again.

That rare emotion, love, entered my life again, and I said “yes” to grabbing it. On Saturday, August 16, I took the final step to make my life complete when I married my longtime best friend, Harold.

My sons walking me down the aisle

We started our married life with a lovely ceremony surrounded by family. While honeymooning in Branson, we stopped at a scenic overlook. I offered to take a photo of two couples, older and younger. They offered to take a picture of us. When Harold retrieved our camera, he told them we had just married the day before. “Oh, are you going to start a family?” he asked Harold.

“We already have grandchildren,” Harold replied.

An only child, never married, Harold has inherited an instant, large family. My mom and I were talking about the change in his status recently. “I hope the shock doesn’t kill him,” she joked.

Sure, being married again is going to require adjustments for me. I still find it hard to think of Jim as “my first husband.” I’ll no longer have all the personal time that I’ve had in the past. And I’ll no longer have sole possession of the TV remote control. We have a few conflicts with what we record on our DVR’s—after all I don’t want to give up American Idol or The Voice.

In the big scheme of things, those are just minor adjustments. The major benefits of our marriage far outweigh the drawbacks. I now have someone to love—and he’ll always have my back, and I’ll have his. We have good times together, whether it’s working on a project, traveling, visiting family, watching TV, or sitting on the deck, drinking coffee, and playing with our dog Lucy.

Unity Sand Ceremony

Harold and I have joined hands to make one heart. During the unity sand ceremony on our wedding day, Pastor Burton said, “As these containers of sand are poured together, the individual containers will no longer exist, but will be joined as one. Just as these sands can never be separated and poured again into the individual containers, so will your marriage be a molding of two individual personalities, bonded together forming one heart, one love.”

What can I say? Life is good. I’ve been lucky in love, twice.

When I look back on my life thus far, I have a treasure chest of sweet memories stored in my brain. I appreciate the value of life, and love, and look forward to creating many more special moments.

copyright © August 2014 by L. S. Fisher

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