My parents, Dot and Nic, were married in 1942, nine years after they met.
This was no impetuous union!

They had lived through the Depression and family tragedies, and the Second World War was their next obstacle. I was born in 1944, while my father was overseas. My mother had to give birth to me without the man she loved so very much, and he didn't get to hold me until I was 10 months old. My early memories of them are filled with love and affection. They liked to hug each other a lot. Me too. When I was five years old, they took me to a ballet class for the very first time. In this, they gave me the precious gift of a lifetime passion…dance!

Years passed. In 1955, my brother Tom was born. They had almost given up the hope of having another child, and their joy in their new son was a wonder. As time passed, it became clear to me that these two remarkable people, who had never been to college, were the most intelligent folks I would ever know. They loved each other through good and bad times, and our family was the most important thing in the world to them.

They were blessed to have had almost 52 years together when Nic passed quietly away in his easy chair at home while Dot was playing bridge with her club. She missed him terribly, but she found her pace, remained active in her bridge clubs, made monthly trips to the Gulf Coast casinos with the "girls" to blow her bridge winnings, and fell one morning while buying donuts for her dog. She was on a respirator within hours, and passed away the next day.

This story is my salute to the two people whose love and devotion to each other and to their family will forever shine in the eyes of their children and grandchildren and all of those yet to be.

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