I’ve never seen two people love each other as completely as my parents did. Both grew up dirt poor, both had alcoholic fathers, my dad’s refused to deal with his kids at all. Both met in college and stayed together, uncompromisingly, until my pops died. My dad’s stuff is still wherever he left it, even his hammer is still under their back porch. I haven’t touched his tools (and even some of mine he borrowed) that he left in my basement.
They traveled together, laughed together, fought together, and couldn’t see themselves with anyone else. Nobody loved or knew my pops more than my mom. Nobody knew or loved my mom more than my pop’s. They adored each other, as much as they got on each other’s nerves.
They chose each other. And were the closest of friends.
They poured everything they could into their children. We all do our best to put what they taught us into our own children.
They traveled together, laughed together, fought together, and couldn’t see themselves with anyone else. Nobody loved or knew my pops more than my mom. Nobody knew or loved my mom more than my pop’s. They adored each other, as much as they got on each other’s nerves.
They chose each other. And were the closest of friends.
They poured everything they could into their children. We all do our best to put what they taught us into our own children.