When I started this blog, I described, in the About section, my confusion about the meaning of my 25 years of memories.

On Friday the 13th of this month, my ex was lucky enough to have a heart attack in the right place at the right time. A rare syndrome known as “Stokes-Adams” occurred when he was surrounded by physical therapists and Y personnel. The doctors at the hospital had never met a survivor of Stokes-Adams. When the electrical activity of the heart suddenly stops, the victim is more likely to be at home sorting socks or watching Wheel of Fortune than surrounded by CPR experts.

Our niece and I got him through at the hospital. He is now staying with our daughter and me here.

In the hospital, it all came back to me. I love this person. Inhaling his breath. Talking about this and that.

On Saturday night, here, he brought up the topic of the incident that broke us up. He is adamant in his position and won’t change. I told him I will always love him, but he doesn’t see me, our daughter, or anyone else. Until he sees other points of view, he will be stuck.

We love each other, and our knowledge that this won’t get solved has made the thing a non-issue for our status of good friends.

I love him, but I can’t love me with him.

He is enjoying my heart-healthy cooking, and I will continue, over the phone, to help him with his eating even when our daughter and I move to NJ. We call each other “Hon” and say “I love you.” I’ve talked to our daughter. She knows I can’t be married to her dad, but she sees that we love each other and that, even if you won’t tolerate someone’s behavior, you can still love and help the person.

And the memories? I thanked him for giving their meaning back to me. We love each other and spent 25 years of living together.

All the pictures and videos are as beautiful as they seem.

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