Bittersweet Memories

Editor’s Note: Sometimes the roads we take are rough and we can’t see exactly where we’re going. The future though lies ahead, not behind us.

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I had seen Lesley several times at church – Unity Unitarian Church in St. Paul. I hadn’t paid much attention because she sat in a pew on the left side of the aisle and I sat in a pew on the right side. I had never actually met her. And little could I imagine that we would soon walk down that aisle together.

I was a bachelor comfortably adjusted to being a single parent. My divorce from Kirsten had left me reeling.

Interestingly, since this was 1980, I was the first father in Ramsey County to be given joint custody of my son. I had  to make huge adjustments. It took time. I had nothing better to do with my life than focus on raising my son. We lived alone, but we were certainly not lonely. We were self-sufficient; we were happy. I lacked for nothing. My joy as a parent made up for my sense of failure as a husband. Initially the idea of being a bachelor again had scared the wits out of me, but after three years as a single parent, Ben and I were totally adjusted.

In 1982 Lesley invited me to attend a showing of Sophie’s Choice, a movie starring Meryl Streep and Kevin Kline. Yes, Lesley and I had met at church,  but beyond that I knew very little about her except that she was also a single parent. Her invitation to see a movie came as a complete surprise to me because I knew she wasn’t dating. She had also told everyone in her book club that she had had it with men.

We were on safe ground at the theatre because this wasn’t a “date”, and because she knew that just like she had had it with men, I had had it with women. To watch the movie she wanted a feeling of safety with someone because the movie was a “tear-jerker” and she didn’t want to see it alone.

In the movie Meryl Streep portrays a holocaust survivor with a dark secret and emotional scars. On the way back to the car we tried a little banter, but then the tears flowed. I was fortunate to have a clean handkerchief with me.

I drove her home in silence. I walked her to the door (as gentlemen were expected to do back then). I was hoping that she would invite me in for a cup of coffee (as women were expected to do back then).

Lesley mentioned that she didn’t have coffee, but to my eternal surprise she invited me in for a shot of scotch. We spent several hours talking, and talking, and talking, and then after that, I forgot to go home.

The Postscript:

The curtain has come down on this second marriage. Lesley is still on stage behind the curtain, and I’m sitting passively in the audience. Is the play over? Lesley has already written a new stage play with her acting group, while I’m struggling with the four phases of grief: shock and numbness, mourning, despair, recovery. The four phases are helpful in an instance of terminal illness, a car accident, a drive-by shooting, a catastrophic death — actual events. However, the four phases are not very helpful when dealing with the uncertainty and confusion brought on by the gradual but total breakdown of communication in this forty-year marriage.

So where am I? If I were to let it, confusion could become a permanent disability. Instead, I’m leaning into the future. At my age, time is of the essence. There is a road ahead, but it’s a road with forks requiring that I have the courage to be me. My fervent hope is to have a companion with whom to share interests and time together. Why is that so difficult? Because it’s proven difficult in the past. I pledge to not let the past be the future. 

Copyright © 2025 by Richard Wolfgramm