So help me I didn’t see this coming … not ever in a zillion years.

My first full day back to having my Princeton, Texas, dwelling more or less all to myself has been, shall we say, a challenge. Why? Well, because Sabol the Puppy and I are without our two feline friends, Marlowe and Macy.

They have joined their daddy, my son, who this week moved into his new home about six miles south of us in rural Princeton. My son moved in with me in the spring of 2023 after his mother passed away from a savage form of brain cancer. He brought his cats with him.

I gotta tell ya, Marlow and Macy bonded very nicely with their grandpa … aka me. Marlowe and I have grown particularly close. He slept at the end of my bed with me damn near every night. I would move during the night, perhaps disturb him, and he would walk ever-so-softly toward my face, nuzzle me and purr in my ear. This would last a few minutes, then he would return to his spot at my feet and go back to sleep.

Yes, I miss my son. I was glad he came. I have told him he saved my life, sparing me from much of the grief he, his brother, sister-in-law and his niece were all suffering with Kathy Anne’s sudden illness and departure. We powered through it together.

I say that, but damn, I miss the kitties in a way I didn’t expect.

It’s going to take time. I am used to telling both Marlowe and Macy that I love them. I also am going to my grave believing they know what I was telling them.

When they were hungry, they would let me know. First thing in the morning, they were at my door yelling at me, “Hey, we’re hungry, grandpa!”

I say all this knowing that I am not totally alone. I have Sabol. She is a scream! I leave the house for 45 seconds, return and she acts like I’ve been gone for a week. She has a limitless supply of affectionate licks and she doles them out with extreme enthusiasm.

President Truman once said about life in Washington, “If you want a friend, get a dog.” Sabol is my friend for life.

Still, the house just isn’t quite the same.

Adjustments come in many forms, too many to count or to tick off … but here’s the thing: I am going through another adjustment as I write this brief blog post.

My son has purchased a house in Princeton, Texas. It’s about six miles south of the home he and I shared for about 18 months. He moved here in the spring of 2023 after we all suffered an unbearable tragedy, the loss of my dear bride to glioblastoma cancer of the brain.

OK, maybe “unbearable” isn’t quite accurate, as we were able to bear it, albeit with considerable pain. My sons, daughter-in-law and my granddaughter have managed to move forward with our lives.

When my son, the older of my two boys, came here he brought a broken heart. We healed together, along with his brother and his family. You see, in February 2023 after 51 years of marriage to Kathy Anne, I was suddenly alone. Then, thanks to my son’s desire to be near his dad, I wasn’t alone. How about that?

He brought his two kitties, Macy and Marlowe, with him. They helped spice up the activity in our modest home. They made themselves quite comfy in their new digs. Of course, I had Toby the Puppy when they moved in. Then I lost Toby at the end of 2023.  More heartache ensued, and it was time for additional adjustments.

Then along came Sabol in September. She joined our family immediately upon my return from vacation. this past summer. She has been beyond a mere joy to have. She is a full-fledged member of my family.

Yes, another adjustment.

Now comes the latest episode requiring some change. My son has moved out. Today he took his kitties with him. They’re now ensconced in their new home just a few miles down the road.

Guess what … I am learning all over again to adjust to being — more or less — alone with my thoughts.

But I do have Sabol here. Her desire for affection and her capacity to deliver it are endless.

Life is good, man.

I grappled with my heart over whether I wanted to post anything about a sad date that is about to visit my family and me.

I have decided to go ahead with an acknowledgment of the date and a declaration that I am looking toward a bright, adventurous future.

It was a year ago, Feb. 3, 2023, when my phone rang and the nurse at the other end of the call informed me that my beloved bride had just passed away. Cancer took Kathy Anne from my family and me. It was a savage, but brief, bout with glioblastoma.

You know about that. I won’t dwell on it here.

It’s been a remarkable year to say the very least. I have embarked on what I have described as a journey through darkness. I am quite happy to proclaim, though, that the light is shining much brighter today than it dared shine on the worst day of our lives.

I have made the trek, recovering from the intense pain one always feels when you suffer such a loss. I have sought to chronicle my journey on this blog. I have shared the highs and lows of the past year. It has been cathartic and therapeutic. It has given me emotional relief to share these experiences on this blog platform.

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Thus, I am glad to have done so, although to be sure, I would wish only that I never had to embark on that journey. But … I did. So did my family and we are counting the blessings of having each other to recall the joy we shared with my bride.

The future now awaits. I am embracing it fully and I have committed to living every single day going forward as if it is my final day on this good Earth.

My friends have told me the “pain will never disappear, but it will become manageable.” It has … and it won’t stop me from living the fullest life possible.

A statement from a woman whose acquaintance I made recently kind of caught me off guard … until I took a moment to process it.

She wondered if I was being “premature” in my effort to restart my life after losing my bride, Kathy Anne, to cancer in February. “It hasn’t even been a year,” she said, alluding to those upcoming “firsts” one endures after losing a loved one. You know, first birthday, first Christmas, first New Year’s Eve, first wedding anniversary one should commemorate with the loved one by your side.

I answered her forthrightly. “I believe I am ready” to proceed with my life, I said. Why? Because Kathy Anne would have it no other way. She made her point to me abundantly clear once or twice when we both were in the peak of health. “I want you to find happiness,” she instructed me in a stern voice, in the event she preceded me to her Great Reward.

My marriage succeeded over the course of 51 years largely because I followed the rule most husbands must follow: I did what my wife told me to do.

Do not ever misconstrue this carved-in-stone fact, which is that no woman ever can replace the love of my life. If I am able to find a new partner, she will understand that fact. My sons, my daughter-in-law, my granddaughter all know that about me. They know that Kathy Anne always will be first in my heart.

The task for me emotionally always will be to deal with the pain that is certain to flare on occasion. It will happen without warning. Indeed, I am functioning quite well while performing this or that task.

There can be no doubt that Feb. 3, 2023 was the worst day of my life and the lives of my family members. It happened near the beginning of what has turned out to be the crappiest year of my life.

However, I do possess an eternal wellspring of optimism. The future, as they say, is for the living. I intend to live my life on my own terms, albeit while following the instruction of my darling Kathy Anne.

Happiness is out there for me. I intend to find it.

My late bride once informed me — and I don’t recall the precise time or even the context of the conversation — that she didn’t want me to grieve forever if she left this Earth before I did.

“I want you to be happy,” Kathy Anne told me with a note of sternness in her voice. “If you find someone, then you should pursue that relationship,” she added. My response was similar, but not identical. I believe I answered with, “I want the same for you sweetie, but to be honest the thought of you being ‘with’ another man would drive me out of my mind.”

Well, Kathy Anne did leave this world first. I believe I am ready, though, to follow her instruction about finding happiness.

This journey I’ve been on since the worst day of my life likely will never end. The journey has been dark and at times full of sadness. Until just recently. It has brightened a bit largely because my own head has cleared and I am able to actually think about where I want to be in, say, three to five years.

I do not intend to move from Princeton, Texas. This will remain my forever home, as it belonged to Kathy Anne and me and served to be our base of operations while we visited our granddaughter, her parents and while we traveled throughout this great big, gorgeous country of ours. I’m still able to all of that, although the travel plans have changed a bit; but I am making that work, too.

As for future companionship, well, I will let that play out in due course. I have advised my sons — and any young man willing to listen to this advice — against “looking for the girl of your dreams. She will just show up.” It happened to one of my sons, and it damn sure happened to me. My other son will find that individual, I am sure, one day.

So will I. Thus, I am declaring that I won’t resist the tug into a new relationship when it starts to pull. But whoever comes along will need to understand the nature of the huge hole that remains in my permanently damaged heart.

If she has taken steps along a journey of her own, I am certain that she’ll get it.

HOT SPRINGS, Ark. — I should not declare victory prematurely, as there are more hurdles to overcome, more significant dates that lie ahead.

That said, I want to issue a cautious note of confidence as my latest mind-clearing, heart-mending sojourn is about to conclude.

I ventured back east to get away from the house I shared with my late bride, Kathy Anne. I had my share of spells visiting family and friends. I have written about them already. Fifty-two years of togetherness with my dream girl aren’t going to be diminished any time soon.

However, I appear to have cleared my head sufficiently to go through a few whole days without welling up. That is a positive development … don’t you think?

My heart? That’s another matter. It remains seriously damaged from the event that occurred on Feb. 3, when I lost my bride to a savage form of brain cancer. I accept that my heart will remain permanently damaged. I hear from friends and acquaintances who have lost the loves of their lives that they, too, sob without warning. I won’t bore you with reports on when that happens to me.

Just know — if you have been following this journey through the dark fog — that I am seeing the light.

I will return to my North Texas house sometime tomorrow. I’ll walk into the living room and will see evidence of Kathy Anne where I left it two weeks ago.

I don’t expect to cry, which — if I am able to finish this journey with dry eyes — might enable me to declare a form of victory.

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