The way a woman should be loved.

A divorced woman. With two kids. A daughter, 12. And a son, 8. Furthermore, she was nine years older than me. Yes, that was my true love. Dear sweet Jeanne. We got hitched. In 1969. And had 38 happy years. Together. Until Jeanne died. Of complications. From Alzheimer's. My mother cautioned me. Against marriage. But I knew better. I knew Jeanne was right for me. And I was right for Jeanne. Goes to show. That I was much smarter than my dumb mother. When it comes to love. I'm brilliant. A genius. As perceptive as they come. I'm a true lover. A dreamer.  A romantic idealist. Jeanne was a refugee. From a dysfunctional marriage. A cheating husband.  With no clue that he was married to a gem. Maybe the nicest woman in the world. Several years ago, when Jeanne's ex-husband was on his deathbed, I went to see him. To thank him. For his mistakes. For not recognizing that Jeanne was a blessing. That he passed on to me. He did me a favor.  By, in essence, rejecting and maltreating Jeanne. That made it easy for me. Jeanne was ready. To be loved. The way a woman should be loved. --Jim Broede