An art. We taught each other.

I’m capable of unconditional love. Yes, I dare say it. But one never knows. For sure. Unless put to the test. I’d like to think. That maybe I have. Only my creator knows. I’ll abide by his definition. For which I have a clue. All I know. Is that I stuck with dear wife Jeanne. Through thick and thin. For 38 years. Even when she had Alzheimer’s. I wasn’t always the perfect care-giver. But I genuinely tried. Right up to the end. Even now. Ten years after Jeanne’s death. I feel love. Of course, I’ve gotten on with life. That’s what Jeanne would have wanted me to do. I speculate. That Jeanne’s spirit. Has intervened. To see to it. That I remain happy. And in love. With life. She put my Italian amore, Cristina. On my life’s glide path. To see to it. That I remain happy for the remainder of my Earthly life. Jeanne is looking down on me. At this very moment. From her perch in spiritual paradise. Smiling. Over the thought. That I have cultivated a second true love. With whom, I’ll spend the upcoming holidays. In France. Jeanne isn’t the least bit jealous. Instead, she’s practicing the virtue of unconditional love. It’s an art. That we taught each other. --Jim Broede