by Danna Shirley
She sat at the desk looking over the faded memories of
her life with her husband of thirty-four years. She had always wanted to
organize her pictures that were stuffed in drawers, boxes, and envelopes . . .
when she had the time! It seemed the time was never there, though. Well, she had time now!
Danna met Ron when “his ship came in.” He was a sailor on
the U.S.S. Merrick that had pulled into dry-dock in San Pablo, California for
three months. By the time he left for his third tour of duty in Viet Nam, he
had proposed.
It
was an eight month deployment and Danna wasn’t used to waiting for anyone. Her
friends said he would be getting a “Dear John” letter before too long, but it
never happened. Instead the “Dear John” letter went to a guy she had been
dating before Ron came along. It’s strange how a moment in time can change lives
forever.
Ron was from Alabama, a sweet southern boy with a completely
different background and culture from Danna’s liberal, California roots, but
love doesn’t know geography. They only dated face to face for three months and
had eight months of strained correspondence. They were married three days after his return—a
quick, round-trip to Reno over Donner Pass in December. He had only a light sweater, having just
hitchhiked up from Southern California, and she wore a cream-colored suit. They
arrived as the doors of city hall were opening to get their marriage license
and then bought their wedding rings at a little jewelry store next door to Chapel
of the Bells where they were married.
As Danna reminisced over the life she had chosen as Ron’s
wife, she remembered the anxiety of her first airplane ride and leaving
everything that she knew and loved behind—her family, friends, job, and hometown.
Her first flight was to join him and she cried all the way. Why? It’s a fearful
thing when you’re 20 years old to step into an unknown life.
He
was a man of the world having joined the Navy at 18. She had never been away
from home and was still “daddy’s girl.” He was the oldest of four boys and she
the youngest of three girls. What a combination! He was forced to grow up early
and she was spoiled rotten. She smiled as she thought of how he had had his
work cut out for him . . . but he was up to the challenge. She didn’t mind,
either, because he made her a better person.
Being a Navy wife meant moving anywhere and everywhere! It was nine years before they returned to live
in California and then for only three months. “Precious memories,” she thought. “How would my life have been different if I’d
married a local boy? I might never have
flown in an airplane; never seen Japan, Bermuda, the Philippines, Okinawa,
Korea, or Hawaii. Or Maryland, Mississippi, Florida, Washington, Alabama, or
New Jersey! And oh, the friends I’ve made over the years of travel! They are
strewn around the globe. What a rich, full life to travel the world with the
one I love?”
As the children started arriving, Kristen in Mississippi,
Russell in the Philippines, and Aaron in Alabama, that’s when her work really
began. They packed, they moved, they unpacked—often! Ron was sometimes there to
help but usually left early to find a place to live at the other end. For
someone who had never moved from her California roots, she now got “itchy feet”
every few years. It took time but she realized home was wherever she made it
and her family was always with her—in heart.
Finally, as civilians, Danna and Ron were able to put
down deep roots on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. His Navy days were over! The
children were still young, Kristen 11, Russ four, and Aaron one. School plays,
cheerleading, sports—lots of pictures, lots of memories.
Then Kristen graduated and went off to college. Russ and
Aaron graduated but they had “itchy feet” too, for paths away from home. Ron and Danna had an empty nest after 30 years and
they enjoyed their times together. Every day he went to his job and she went to
hers but their evenings were warm and comfortable, quiet and peaceful.
That year the media was warning people every day about
getting flu shots and how severe the flu bug would be that winter. Ron had a
mild case at Christmastime and of course, like
a man, thought his cough would soon subside. He complained of how his chest
hurt. Finally, in February, he couldn’t ignore it anymore. The doctor said it
was pneumonia and wanted to put him in the hospital but he refused, promising
to take his five medications and stay in bed.
Danna
wanted to take him to the emergency room the next morning but he wanted to let
the medicine have time to work. She called every two hours to check on him. He
was resting when she got home that afternoon.
Their last hours together were lost because they didn’t
know what was coming. They didn’t have any last words or a last kiss, no last
“I love you,” no last look into each others eyes to remember the life they had had
together. He died in his sleep that night at age 56.
If only the clock could have been turned back two months
to treat the pneumonia earlier, or even twenty-four hours just to hold each
other one more time. She refused to ask the question that has no answer, “Why,
God?”
Yes,
she was so thankful she had these photos. She laid them lovingly in their
special places in the album knowing the children and grandchildren would someday
enjoy these precious memories.
March 24, 2005
