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Cramps. Rain. Sigh. I really wish I felt more energetic. Mostly I just want to read or watch TV. At least with my period finally here I can expect and improvement in mood as well as the end to a week of intermitent migraines. Now if the rain would let up.

My Cup Runneth Over with Love

My dad had a tenor voice. He sang in the choir at church. But most of all, I remember him singing love songs to mom. He was often playful about it. And it made me feel happy, safe and loved to see him love her so much. It made me want to love and be loved that way too.

Dearest Mama, Dearest Daddy, I want to thank you for having the courage to love so well and so clearly. It took courage to leave the loveless first marriages. It took amazing courage to risk everything to love and trust each other. Johnny asked my mom to "grow old" with him. It became my ideal as well. The ideal they were not able to have. When dad was killed, my Aunt Dee sent my Mama six roses -- one for every year of their marriage. They only had six years married to each other. Such pain and tragedy always makes me weep. I don't know how mom survived it. She must have loved us girls a lot just to get up in the morning and keep going despite the grief.

And now, when I look at my two loving husbands, my dad's voice fills my mind as he sings one of his favorites:

My Cup Runneth Over Lyrics by Ed Ames - Lyrics

Sometimes in the mornin' when shadows are deep
I lie here beside you just watching you sleep
And sometimes I whisper what I'm thinking of
My cup runneth over with love

Sometimes in the evening when you do not see
I study the small things you do constantly
I memorize moments that I'm fondest of
My cup runneth over with love

In only a moment we both will be old
We won't even notice the world turning cold
And so, in these moments with sunlight above
My cup runneth over with love
My cup runneth over with love
With love

I ask, beg and plead with the universe to grant me the fulfillment of my parents' dream. So far, I have had 20 years with Troy and 12 with Lon. I smile at the silver streaks in Lon's hair. I laugh happily at the deepening of Troy's face. As I sit at the hair dressers, my hands play softly with my own discarded curls. I look with amazement at how many more of them are white, rather than blond or brown. Yes, we are growing older. And I cry with joy to be living my dream. Thank you, Mama. Thank you, Daddy.