Around Here By Leo Coughlin The media has been full, as is their wont, of the decade marking the tragic end of the beautiful Princess Diana, but for us, we think of the incredibly beautiful and loving one who left us 10 years ago yesterday. I will tell you, the pain never goes away. Softened a little, yes, but fading to nothingness? No way. At the time, 10 years ago, when she left I wrote that the light had gone out of my life forever. Some of it has come back with the addition of seven more little ones (including a great grandchild September 13) she would have loved, and the growth of many of the others into young adulthood. She is always a part of us, always there, not always fully spoken of in detail, but always there. A presence. And that is as it should be, for when we began, with no definite plans for the future except to make a life together and have some love and happiness, we wove the fabric that, although it is torn a tiny bit, still exists. Marion Suddoth was sitting on a park bench, as a young woman could do in those days. She was a knockout and she knocked me for a loop. Yes, love at first sight and miracle of miracles, it panned out. That sort of stuff makes you believe in God. For if God had not ordained that meeting, who did? Think of it. To follow up on a feeling of love at first sight and become committed for a lifetime can be very risky. She turned out to be all that one could want. Again, as I see it, the hand of God at work. From that first meeting on June 30, 1956, when I said, in the boldness of the first flush of love, "I'm going to marry you," and received in answer "No, you're not!" (who turned out to be right? - wink) flowed a love that comes now to embrace and involve 40 people. Children, spouses, grandchildren, a great grandchild - it is amazing: you begin with two and in 51-plus years that expands to 40. And so is life. Comes August each year and the sadness and pain is relived. Beginning August 27, the agony started to unfold and for all of us it was 24 days on the cross, our hearts filled with hope, but our eyes filled with the undeniable. We were going to lose her and there was little or no relief for that in this world. There was an agony for me to see my five daughters and son - all adults - writhe in quiet and controlled panic over the fact that they were going to lose their mother and there was no power on this earth that could change that. What I wanted to do - and all it could be was a fanciful idea - was take all those tubes and monitoring equipment off her and take her out of that place of death, go home and hold her in my arms until God took her. But agony never allows that. When she was gone, I did not change the sheets until I could not get her scent any more. I think of her very closely and remember wonderful days when Mexicali Rose or Amapola are played at very slow tempo. Gone too soon. Return to Home Page Return to Current Edition Contact us