We got our sustenance from each other.

I shared my job, my writing with Jeanne. I often took her on assignments with me. On interviews. She'd sit in often. She knew when to participate, and when not to participate. If I was doing an animal feature, Jeanne would love it. And I'd discuss with her the way I was planning to handle a story. Or I'd bounce a draft off her. And often, I worked out of home. I'd conduct a phone interview from home. And Jeanne would eavesdrop. She might caution me -- to not be so intimidating. Things like that. Often, Jeanne could put the person I was interviewing more at ease. Maybe if I could have such a nice wife, I wasn't such a bad guy. And when I came home, Jeanne and I would share our days together. Share our ups and downs. And if I was uptight over something, maybe Jeanne would take me to bed. Or if Jeanne needed loving, I saw that she got it. Our lives were intermeshed. We didn't have a whole lot of social contacts. Jeanne had her relatives and friends, and she appreciated them. But we were mostly focused on each other. We consumed each other. In pleasant ways. We were not only husband and wife and lovers -- we were best friends. There was nothing we couldn't share with each other. Even if we were annoyed with each other over something. We could bring it up. We could get it resolved. Jeanne was unpretentious. Just a delightful woman. She was herself. She didn't have to put on aires. I could discuss heady stuff with her. But she more than likely would steer me to less convoluted subjects. Jeanne was down to Earth. An animal lover. She knew what was important. Our time together. If housework didn't get done, that was all right. Our time together was the most important thing. Just being with each other. We weren't separated for more than 10 days in all those years together. We got our sustenance from each other. --Jim Broede