He was shy. She was not. She was poor. He was poorer. He was Giants. She was Yankees. He loved the movies. She loved him. She adored Sinatra. He adored her. He gave a mutual friend a Mel Ott baseball card in exchange for introducing him to her. She went on a first date with him because her friend got the chicken pox at the last minute. They met at 14, married at 20, were together less than 30 more years. She was always his bride. He was always her hero. He died so young. She grew old without him. He gave his heart to her at first sight. She never loved anyone else — for as long as she lived.
She sent him a note in 1944, referring to a high school dance he couldn’t go to because he had to work at a grocery store: “Dear J … I won’t see you tomorrow night. You are not going, are you? I will leave at 7:30 … I guess that’s all for now.” He saved the note and gave it back to her decades later. “My dearest M,” he wrote on the outside. And then inside, just below her original note he penned, “P.S. She didn’t go.”
I guess she just didn’t want to dance without him — ever.
Dance on, Mom and Dad. They’re playing your song.
© 2014 Claudia Grossman
As per usual you made me cry. Just beautiful, and a wonderful love story. D