Friends

Ava Alexis Taylor
August 22, 2012
Photo taken in February 2013
 

 

Let me start by saying, "I'm fine." My Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor says he sees no evidence of disease and that is all I can ask for regarding my health detour that began in January 2010.

 

Diane and I are on Marco Island, Florida, for a couple of months, and we take daily walks on the beach where we discuss the world around us and try to make sense of what is happening to us, our family, and our friends. We have been married almost 45 years. Yes, let me spare you saying it:

 

1.  "How has she put up with Gord for so long?"

2.  "She must be a Saint."

3.  "There is most certainly a place in Heaven for Diane."

4.  "How has she done it?"

Yesterday, as we walked, I said, "Maybe I should start up the Blog again with an occasional update on what is happening to us as we age." Diane stopped dead in her tracks, and it was one of those moments when people who spend a lot of time together are thinking the same thing. She wholeheartedly agreed, so here we are. 

It has been ten months since I last wrote and much has happened. The inevitable process of life and death has touched us up close and personal. We lost Diane's Dad in May and then added the lovely Ava (daughter of Gordon III and Lisa) in August. While neither of these events came as a surprise, the loss of a parent (and Harry was a genuine nice guy) is never easy. The arrival of Ava gave us the opportunity to reunite as a family over Christmas, and we all had a wonderful time. Diane and I both find that we enjoy time spent with our children as adults and, of course, grandparenting is the Cat's Meow (whatever that means).

We shared some other nice adventures during the year including visits by and to friends, marked the 200th episode of Across the Miles (a local access tv show I host for Western Illinois University), endured the drought of 2012, and generally enjoyed ourselves. However, we did apparently cross a threshold of sorts this year--we are not going to live forever. I am well aware that at almost age 67 this body of mine has been subjected to lots of abuse over the years and while I regret none of it (except maybe the controversial football loss to Seal One in 1967) it seemed like my supply of days was pretty much endless.

I have said it hundreds of times here and elsewhere that the most important things in life are not things at all, but the people we meet on our journey through life--people who nurture us, enrich us, stand by us, and become a permanent part of our personal tapestry. They shape us, make us laugh, are there to comfort us in our times of need, and define who we are as human beings. This has been a never-ending stream of good fortune, wonderful stories, and shared experiences with people who have been a part of the Taylor family over the past 50 years.

 

That is, until 2012 when the Grim Reaper visited us four times. I am learning that life goes on, life is to be savored, life is to be enjoyed, but there is an end to this grand adventure so do not put off until tomorrow those things you really want to do now. You may or may not know these people depending on how long you have known the Taylors but everyone reading this has their own set of personalities who have excited the stage in the course of your life.

Steve Stanko lived in Seal Hall during college. I was his Resident Assistant. He was the first genuine eccentric I ever met, and he was priceless. I never met his mom Susan but each of my children has a flannel baby blanket made by her. Steve and his dad Mike came to every WIU home football game. Stanko stories abound during his college years, and he was truly one of a kind. He came to Jennifer and John's wedding and sat at the family table with us. We never passed through Gillespie without stopping to see our dear friend. He was a teacher by trade and his students in Staunton loved him because he really cared about them. And then he was gone.

Jerry Goggin went to high school at Brother Rice in Chicago and was best buddies with my friend Bill O'Toole. We got to know each other at Western because of a fondness for sports, accounting, and beer. The Midge, as he was known, was a prolific story teller and a crazed fan of Notre Dame football. After college, he moved to Ft. Wayne, Indiana where he became an extremely popular teacher at a local parochial school. Jerry was there in 1975 when Gordon III took his first steps in Macomb. While we didn't see much of each other after college, we would talk a couple of times a year and the conversation would invariably move to his beloved Notre Dame. I miss his voice and good cheer.

Steve and Jerry had some long-term health issues so losing them, while an unwanted surprise, was not totally unexpected. Terry Moloznik is another story. Bang, in our face knock-out punch. The email from his wife Renee brought us to our knees. Terry, heck he was one of my students, he babysat and played with my kids, we played football, baseball, and basketball together. He too, like me had 10 thumbs, but he helped me put up shelves in the garage of the house on Glenoak Drive that you could "sort of" put stuff on and maybe it would or wouldn't fall off. Terry was a "man's man" and I cannot explain him any better than that. He was young, vibrant, full of life. We last saw him in Washington DC when we were there with Diane's folks. Terry walked up and I said something crude. He responded in kind, hugged Diane, then proceeded to engage Diane's Dad in some small talk about their respective time in the Army. I still have my friend's photo on my desk in my office because I am just not ready to "let go."

Dave Beveridge is one of the reasons I returned to Western in 1970 to teach. I remember like yesterday calling Diane after my interview telling her I had met this neat couple (Dave and Judy) and that I was sure she would like them--she did. Diane and Judy became best friends and remain so to this day. Dave held about every significant academic position there is at Western but it must be noted that he was manager of the undefeated College of Business Softball team in the summer of 1971. Of course, he recruited a couple of graduate assistants (Red Jordan and Charlie Bokemeier) but heck, no one said he couldn't. The Beveridge children (Ryan and Jill) grew up with our kids, and we saw quite a bit of each other. Dave and Judy are Godparents to our son Ryan so that gives you some indication how we feel about them. Dave helped me clean my gutters every Memorial Day; he never figured out my "scam." We would invite the Beveridges over, play some ball with the kids and then I'd hit one up on the roof and while retrieving it say to Dave, "Heh, while I'm up here..." and he never figured it out. On an extremely personal level, no Dave Beveridge, no PhD for me. He helped me every day for literally months and once I finally got it, Diane hosted a grand party which concluded with a toast that initially was for me then quickly morphed into one for the first "co-authored" PhD in the United States.

 

What is remarkable about my four departed friends is that they were all as close to Diane as they were to me. Each of us, in our own way, loved these guys who became part of our extended family. Where do I go from here, what point am I trying to make? Maybe I just felt the need to say goodbye one more time or publicly thank them for being part of and enriching my life. Not that I ever did, but I will never take friendship for granted as it is a precious gift given to us one person at a time. Memories are fine and they remain with us but I have learned with the passing of my friends that I shall endeavor to appreciate even more time spent in the here and now.

Time for a walk on the beach.

 

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And So It Goes....



Boat by a Marco Island Sunset



Good news from West Burlington, IA. I was scoped on Wednesday, April 11th, and Dr. Doug Henrich said, “Looks good! Instead of the usual three months, let’s see you in six!” Doug informed us that the first year after treatment has the highest incidence of recurrence and if patients make it to the end of year two where I am the odds greatly improve. I will remain in his care for a total of five years so there will always be some angst but so far so good. We did ask him why I need to still take water with every bite of food and why I can’t take pills. He said the answer is simple: “Just like a burn victim, there is scarring in your throat from the ravages of radiation. Most people have membranes that ease the flow of food down and you don’t. It’s that simple.” Diane and I shook hands with Doug, walked out the door down the hallway, and gave each other a high five!

The experience reminded me a bit of when I completed the Ph.D. There were no fireworks or bands playing but an ominous cloud had been lifted. I’ve come across a few quotes that explain where I am now but the first has to do with how people should live their lives.

Quote One:
“You can live to be 100 if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be 100.”

Clearly Diane and I have changed from this experience. We are more pensive, more spiritual, take little for granted, and have learned to savor each day that comes our way. We do not intend to let this adventure cause us to stop living vigorous and, for us, exciting lives.

Quote Two:
“Do not resent growing old. Many are denied the privilege.”

I read this quote and stopped in my tracks. My first blog entry was on March 23, 2010. Today is a rainy, cool day in Macomb. As I was looking for when we started all of this, I began to peruse some of the early entries. They made me cry. I seem to have forgotten much of what happened and that is good for me but it was a wake-up call as I read those words from two years ago. I look back and think about this young guy (maybe not so young) who had no idea what lied ahead, and I’m lucky enough to be able to have told the story with Diane’s help of course.

Quote Three:
“Time may be a great healer, but it is a lousy beautician.”

I have to laugh at this one. I feel good, and I think I look pretty good but the man who looks back at me in the mirror these days has done some living and not all of it was fun. There’s no way around it—cancer takes its toll and you can see it in the face of survivors.

Quote Four:
“And in the end, it’s not the years that count. It’s the life in those years.”

If Diane and I have learned anything from all of this, it is to appreciate each sunrise and each sunset and everything in between. I have met individuals in the winter of their lives who have never really lived, and others whose lives were cut short but made every day count. We will not get complacent about what the future may have in store for us and will continue to live each day to the fullest.
.

Marco Island Sunset

Every day is the beginning of a new adventure. For Diane and me, we are excited at the prospect of a granddaughter scheduled to arrive in August with the parents being son Gordon III and his wife Lisa. That’s the way life works. There is always something on the horizon.




Announcing Gordon & Lisa are having a girl in August.
Diane wrote it in the sand on beach in Marco Island on March 29th!



As I close out this blog, I need to reiterate why we started it in the first place. The goal was to inform others about our odyssey and how we dealt with it as candidly and honestly as we could. We have done that. The question then remains for me, what have I learned from all of this? I believe I can tell you:

1. A loving spouse or significant other is tremendously helpful when dealing with any kind of serious illness or adversity. Diane was always there to take care of my every need but physiologically and psychologically. These were tall orders on both accounts.

2. A positive mental attitude (PMA) serves us well. I’ve given “the motivational speech” thousands of times and the words just seem to flow. This experience has caused me to realize that a PMA is not just a catchy phrase but a prescription for a good life. I often say you can find clouds or sunshine, the choice is up to you.

3. I will get choked up as I type this but oh my God, you people have been so good to me. Cards, letters, emails, calls, prayers, books, food for me, an occasional meal out for Diane, visits, replies on the blog, driving me to treatments, and so much more made me realize even more the importance of friendship and love. Diane and I thank you for being there when we needed you the most.

View of a Marco Island sunrise from our balcony

We’re still here.  Diane tells me that the blog will stay open just no new entries. I can be reached at gordytaylor46@yahoo.com and Diane at dianemtaylor@comcast.net .

Love to all…. Gordy and Diane

The Shell and Faith in the Future

One View from the Balcony

Our visit to the Sunshine State is drawing to a close, and Midwesterners can stop telling us how mild the winter has been--we know. My only response is that when I get up in the morning, I look out at the Gulf of Mexico and view the sunset each evening over the same body of water. It has truly been a wonderful visit. While we have had plenty of visitors, I take one to three walks per day for a total of 9-13 miles. That sounds like a lot of time on the beach, and it is but for me the sand and the waves rolling up on the beach are very restful and tranquil.

Early morning walks are the best as the sun is not yet too high and I pretty much have the entire beach to myself. Yet, later walks that include Diane are fun as well as I get to hear snippets of conversations as we pass people. Beach walking is an interesting endeavor as most folks think they are invisible and that everyone else on the beach is deaf and cannot hear their conversations. Alas, such is not the case. As to the first point, our legion of walkers includes people of every size, weight, and age. They dress in ways they would never dress anywhere else. Skin remains uncovered in places and in amounts that would be cause for arrest anywhere else on the planet. As for the second point, the comments leave us hanging, "When he came home, he found her with..." "She's 25, he must be 60 and.." "All he does is..." "She always talks behind my back and just yesterday I heard her say.." "It isn't fair, Mom favors her when I'm the one who..." And so it goes--everyone has a story and wants to tell it.


This whole "people on the beach" phenomenon came to a head a couple of days ago when I found a huge shell. It is old, weathered, and no one wanted it UNTIL I picked it up. It is not pretty, not symmetrical, not colorful, full of holes, and just not much to look at from an aesthetic standpoint but "it is." It looked lonesome and "used up" so I plucked it up and thought "How many stories has this old shell seen play out over the years before I came upon it?" As I walked back to the condo shell in hand, I became an unintended celebrity. "Where did you get it?" "Do you know how old it is?" "Do you know how rare it is?” and best of all "Will you sell it to me?" My new friend sits on our wrap-around-balcony and will have new stories to tell as it is returning with us to Macomb. The shell will reside on our picnic table in the backyard where new adventures await. It's only a shell, but wherever it's been, the journey continues. I suppose the whole thing is a little corny but like my driftwood experience on Ft. Myers Beach in 2010, it has special meaning to me.

Gordy, Coach Mel Blasi, WIU Golf Team Members

As for faith in the future, Diane and I got a good look up close and personal. WIU Men's Golf Coach, Mel Blasi and seven of his student athletes stopped by, at our invitation, and we spent a few hours together. Each young man shook our hands, looked us directly in the eye, told us where they were from, and said thanks for inviting them. They swam, walked the beach, picked up shells, enjoyed a beautiful sunset and then it was off for dinner where their good manners were clearly on display. For an evening, Diane was proud to refer to them as "her boys" around the condo and its surroundings. They did not disappoint. If these young men are the future of this nation, and they are, then we are in good hands.

The original purpose of this blog was to inform our friends of the Taylor family experience as we dealt with base of tongue cancer. It has been just over two years since that first entry and much has happened. I still can't taste too much and the dry mouth is a constant issue, but by and large, I feel terrific and trust the future is bright. I will forever need to be cautious when eating as it can be a perilous activity. The other night I got something "stuck" and simply couldn't dislodge it. It wouldn't go down and it wouldn't come up, and I began to panic. We were in a restaurant so I got up and walked briskly to the parking lot where I finally got "it" to go down and things returned to normal but it was a bit of a scare. On April 11 I have my next "scope" in Burlington. If all goes well, and we have our fingers crossed, Diane and I agree that it is time to close our blog adventure. The intention was never to give me a "bloody pulpit" to share my views with the world but rather to inform and educate our friends as we lived through a difficult period in our lives. We're told the two-year anniversary (June 10th—ended radiation/chemo treatment) is a significant milestone, so we shall report back here after our April visit to the ENT doctor and hopefully close up shop.

Some Guys Have All the Luck



Birthday Dinner



Sunset at Marco Island, Florida, March 18th

A certain someone in our family had a birthday recently, and it was a memorable day full of cards, phone calls, and well wishes. After 43 years with this woman, I can tell you that they were much deserved.

I met Diane on a blind date on April 1, 1967, (Yes, I've heard all the April Fool's jokes that explain Diane ending up with me) and there were eight of us out that evening in a 1964 Chevrolet Impala that took us to Lake Argyle for a couple of beers. We were all "nice" college kids--Diane, Gail, the other Diane, Barb, Bill, Mike, Thom, and me. Somehow Diane and I got paired up, had a fun time, and sixteen months later got married.

It was not easy at first. Don't get me wrong, we were in love big time but it was 1968 and we had just moved to Gainesville, Florida, where I was to start graduate school. We had $700 to our name from our wedding. I was about to take my physical as the Vietnam War was raging. We didn’t know if I would be drafted, and we were two kids 1200 miles from home. It was a scary and challenging time.

In addition to all of this, poor Diane had to learn how to live with Gordy Taylor. This was not easy for a number of reasons and is the part where I really got lucky. I was a product of the 1950s. I'm not sure what that means but I was not very affectionate, not particularly empathetic, had a very short temper, and was not very complimentary. And oh, I believed marriage was a 50-50 proposition--the 50% Diane gave and the 50% I took. I was not the "gem" I am today.

I mention all this because without Diane's support and love in those early years, I would not be writing this today. She was there for me as I slowly matured. Without her, I wonder if my life would have turned out as well as it has and I thank her for all that she has done for our children and me. It has been a wonderful journey and I love her more than ever. Good friend, Roger Miller, recently sent me The Time of Our Lives by Tom Brokaw who may have said it best.  Brokaw writes that after almost a half-century of marriage Meredith and he are “not so much dependent on each other as we are complementary…” Happy Birthday, Diane.

Tree of Hope

Diane and I continue to enjoy our time in paradise on Marco Island. It has been an absolutely wonderful, restful, and enlightening time in our lives. Today I took another of my "early morning walks" meaning I was out of the condo at 4:50 a.m. and returned at 7:20. I was able to walk about 10 miles, partly on the sidewalk and partly on the beach. I start out in the dark and enjoy the tranquility but at about 6 a.m. the sky begins to lighten up a bit, and I am joined by other walkers and joggers. These early sojourns provide intellectual stimulation of a sort to me as I reflect on all that is life and where mine has taken me. Today "new friends" popped into my mind. We have seen many "old" friends on this trip, and it has been fun to reconnect and retell some old stories from our shared experiences, but today my focus was on the "new" folks and how they have impacted my view of reality.

These people come from diverse walks of life but they all share the common denominator of cancer affecting one of the spouses. No one makes a big deal of it but the “c” word does creep into the conversation. We all think about the next PET scan or scope or whatever procedure is on the horizon to monitor our progress. All of these people and their spouses are grateful that we have, as cancer survivors say, "no evidence of disease" (NED) at this time. One of the survivors has not been so lucky as she lost her husband four years ago. Diane struck up a conversation with her on the beach and in talking about family she mentioned that she was an ovarian cancer survivor but her husband had not been so fortunate. Diane said, “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” Our new friend replied, "Yes, I miss him so much." Diane came back to where I was sitting, and we both just sat there in silence as we contemplated our good fortune.

As I proceeded on my walk today to a largely deserted part of the beach at the north end of the island, I passed a dead tree with shells hanging from it. Now these are special shells, special in that they have holes in them so individuals can hang them from the tree. Shells with holes in them are hard to find. I watched as a couple of people put shells on the tree and inquired as to why they had done so. One lady replied, "to honor my husband, he's gone now" and a young girl told me "to provide hope for my sister who has leukemia." How neat--a dead tree made alive by people putting shells on the branches symbolizing loved ones. The message had been delivered so I have been scouring the beach for my own "shells with holes" and I found six which I intend to add to that old tree this afternoon: one each in memory of my Mom and brother Doug who left this world too soon at ages 47 and 54 respectively, one to give thanks that Diane's folks remain with us, and one each for the three "new" friends we have met that they may remain cancer free and healthy for the rest of their lives.

I enjoy my walks on the beach. I never know what new thought or adventure they will bring my way.

Do We Really Know Them?



Diane and Anna's 88th Birthday, Christmas Day 2012





Harry and Diane, Christmas Day 2012

We are alive and well and much enjoying Marco Island (just south of Naples). We arrived on January 30th having left Macomb on the 23rd. Our trip down was leisurely but fun as we stopped in Gillespie, IL, then Florida visits with wonderful friends in Ft. Walton Beach, Gainesville, The Villages, Winter Springs, Odessa, Tampa, and Ft. Myers. It was great fun to reconnect, and we much enjoyed our time spent with long-time friends.

Our condo is fabulous--totally redecorated, two bedrooms, and a walk-around patio/balcony that provides a stunning view of the entire beach and the evening sunsets. We love it. Our views are breathtaking. Walking the beach is our major recreational activity and we have run into friends from San Francisco, Downers Grove, Normal, Moline, and Hinsdale. The Western "connection" is amazing, far-flung, and deep. We wear our WIU t-shirts (we have a couple), and people we've never met even come up and introduce themselves. This truly is a beautiful part of the world with countless friendly people.

My major task each day is to walk and then walk some more. I take my first one between 5:30 and 6 a.m. and then a couple of more with Diane later in the morning and again in mid-afternoon. As you can imagine, this means I am feeling like my "old self." I can eat anything and as long as I have water at the table can manage eating with no difficulty as long as I concentrate on eating and not talking which is a stretch for me. Taste buds work better, maybe in the 60% range, but that is a vast improvement from when everything tasted like cardboard. Progress remains slow but steady and that is what I was told to expect from day one.

Now, back to the beach. At 6 in the morning the beach is not crowded. Actually, I have it to myself, just me and my thoughts which yes, can be a dangerous combination. My parents both have birthdays coming up and Dad would be 98 and Mom 90 but alas they are both gone: Dad at 74 and Mom at the way too young age of 47. Diane is the lucky one here as Dad Paulsen is 90 and Mom 88. Grandpa (Harry) suffers from severe dementia that is a terrible malady both for the sufferer and loved ones. Grandma (Anna) enjoys good health in an assisted living complex. I thought about all this the other day in terms of how each of us deals with our parents and how well do we really know them?

I came back from my walk and posed the question to my wife, "Diane, how old were you when you really knew your Mom?" She looked at me and I could tell she was thinking: "Now where did he come up with that one?" We began a dialogue and first we discussed her dad. Harry Paulsen was never a great conversationalist or communicator, but he was a man who unselfishly devoted his entire life to his family. I don't know if any of his children ever sat down and really got into his mind as he was a quiet and introspective soul and just didn't talk much about himself. I knew all I really needed to know about him, when on his 80th birthday, at a party in his honor, I asked, "Buddy, (my favorite name for him), how do you feel about all the friends and family who are here to celebrate your birthday?" He responded, "This is the happiest day of my life." That's Harry Paulsen, the salt of the earth and a real treasure but did anyone ever really get to know him? I wonder.

The conversation moved to my dad who was known to all of us as "the great communicator." He loved people; he loved to talk. Not too good on the financial end of life but fortunate for me, my best friend on this planet. We had simpatico which is that relationship that exists between two people and they don't need to talk to communicate. They can just feel the mutual bond between each other. Doc Taylor and I talked for hours and I heard all the stories. I learned that at Parker High School in Chicago, his coach, Nate Wasserman would throw chairs at his players to get their attention. We both laughed when he recounted the time in Galena where he was an optometrist that the famous band leader Harry James showed up at Dad's office for an optical adjustment as the band was on their way to perform in Dubuque, Iowa. If nothing else, my dad was a bit of an extrovert, and he called my unsuspecting Mom to tell her he was on his way home with the famous Harry James Band and would she prepare a little lunch. My Mom laughed until the bus pulled up to 624 Hill Street but Connie managed to pull it off and everyone got fed and the band was on its way. Needless to say, next time my parents were in Chicago, it was a complimentary front row table at the Edgewater Beach Hotel to listen to the sounds of Harry James and his band.

We had deep conversations as well, particularly as it related to Mom's battle with tuberculosis and my parents’ long-standing battle with financial insolvency that they ultimately won at great personal sacrifice. I knew my dad as well as any son could, and if I didn't get questions about the course his life took, the blame is on me.

It was time to move the discussion to my mom and the question I posed from that walk on the beach hit me in the face when Diane asked, "Gord, did you ever get to really know your mom?" My response saddened me when I confronted the reality that no, I never really got to discover who Connie Pranger was. I need to be fair here as her younger brother, the wonderful Uncle Bill, has done his best to fill in the gaps for me over the years but there is so much I don't know. Mom loved all four of her sons and was highly protective of us, but she was dead when I was only 23. My friends thought she was my sister (Connie Taylor was a looker) when I brought them home after school; she spent time in a TB Sanitarium when I was in high school; and she attended my college graduation at Western. But then I got married, moved to Florida, went to graduate school and "poof," she was gone. I never got to learn of her dreams, her goals, her trials and tribulations like wanting to go to college and not being able to because the money just wasn't there. I had a terrific Mom. I just wish I'd had the opportunity to know her better.

We finally made it to Diane and her mom. Diane was at a bit of an advantage as we'd talk about our other three parents and in the process she'd had time to give the original question some thought. "So when," I inquired, "did you know Grandma?" She replied in a steady and confident voice, "I'd say I was 35." Who would ever think that was possible? It took her until age 35 to know this woman, how could that be? As we spoke, it all fell into place. As a kid we are growing up, our parents have other kids to raise, bills to pay, and we go about our own business of navigating through life going to high school, maybe college, marrying, starting our own families and charting our own path through life.

At some point, she began the process of getting to really know her mom, not just as her mother but Anna Arnoldsen Paulsen, the woman. As an observer, I don't think the process will ever be complete. Diane and Grandma talk almost daily and I can see and hear the excitement and anticipation in Diane's voice and on her face. These phone calls and personal visits are not responsibilities on Diane's part but rather an opportunity to get to know an old friend better. They talk about Grandpa, parenting, finances, health care, family, and sometimes nothing much at all but somewhere simpatico has entered their unspoken vocabulary as well. These two women, 88 and 63 are best friends. Diane "feels" her Mom's deepest thoughts and vice versa. These two women allow one another to peer into each other's souls and they are no longer simply mother and daughter but two people who are totally comfortable sharing the richness of life as each sees it. Diane has asked Anna about her life. I envy Diane and her mom and am happy for their splendid friendship. Will Diane get all her questions answered, probably not, but when these two women meet on the "other side" I'm sure they will pick up right where they left off.

If you have stayed with me on this entry, there is a point to be made. For some of us, it is too late, our parents or other loved ones are gone but for those of you for whom that is not the case, now is the time to really get to know the people who helped make us who we are today.

Normandy—A Visit to Remember

Pointe du Hoc, Normandy Beach, September 2008



Omaha Beach, Normandy, September 2008

Omaha Beach Monument

American Cemetery at Saint Laurent, Normandy, September 2008

The year 2011 is in the books and 2012 is moving ahead. On the personal side, I can report continued progress—I actually taste a few things and have learned how to navigate the challenges of compromised salivary glands. I feel great. You can't beat that. The dentist says everything looks fine in my mouth, and the optometrist tells me my vision is excellent for a guy my age. I didn't ask Dr. Culver to elaborate on that last observation.

I was looking at one of Diane's many photo books the other day. She does them to commemorate significant family events, trips, reunions, milestones, and whatever else she deems worthwhile to capture for posterity. They are time consuming to complete but the results are always worth the effort. Diane does the photo selection and layout and Kodak prints the finished product.

I was perusing an album she created on one of our trips to France and I lost myself in her photos of Normandy, France. We made our first trip there on June 6, 1995, 51 years to the day of the Allied invasion. It was a day I will never forget. For a few brief hours, I was there. I saw it. I felt it. I was transfixed by it: Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, Pointe du Hoc, and the American Cemetery at Saint Laurent. I've seen the old newsreels of the D-Day landing and the sacrifices that were made that day, but to be there in person was a profoundly moving moment unlike anything I'd experienced before or since. I stood on the water's edge at Omaha Beach. A steady rain pelted my face as I looked into a cold, unforgiving north wind. Adrenalin surged through my body, and I had goose bumps everywhere. Why, I asked myself? There was no withering machine gun fire, no exploding shells, no cries of pain from fallen comrades, no living hell, just the beach and me. The eerie silence of that day was in stark contrast to the incredible chaos and terror of June 6, 1944.

I tried to walk away once, twice, three times but I couldn't. I just stood there alone with my thoughts and cried. I, a 49 year-old man without a care in the world and I simply couldn't control my emotions. The sense of history was overwhelming. My legs were like the iron pilings that remain to this day, sunk in the sand. My mind said it was time to leave but my body called out to me to stay and ponder the magnitude of what had happened there. I'll never know the men who died that day for you and me, but what, if I had the chance, would I say to them now? Could I find the words to thank them? Could I tell them their sacrifices changed the world?

I wondered out loud, how HAD they managed to secure a landing against such withering odds know that certain death was everywhere around them? The courage displayed that fateful day in 1944 was most extraordinary. They didn't ask what was in it for them, they had a job to do and they did it. As Lincoln said after the Battle of Gettysburg in 1863, "they gave the last full measure of devotion...” The soldiers of D-Day did just that. These heroes died so I could play baseball in the park with my sons, enjoy a sunset with Diane, play a set of tennis on a summer afternoon, and do a million other things we all take for granted. The 9,000 young men who lay beneath the crosses in Saint Laurent were denied all these privileges of life. Their lives ended before they'd had a chance to savor life's pleasures. But for us, we can worship where we please, live where we want, attend the college of our choice, and live in the greatest country on the face of the earth.

I am not a political activist but I look at the state of our nation today, and I wonder. Whether you agreed with them or not, Nixon, Kennedy, Dole, Bush 41, and so many more faced the crucible of tyranny and were shaped by it causing them to put country ahead of personal gain and ambition. I can only hope that our current leaders find a way to work together for the collective good of our nation.

There are no doubt lessons to be learned from history and I hope we are all listening. The beaches of Normandy are quiet now. May they remain that way forever.