It has taken me my entire lifetime to write this … this combination of words, phrases, paragraphs, and thoughts is the most important work I have done to date. My whole life, the totality of my existence, experience, talent, and depth of feeling has led up to this moment, this crossroads in my existence.

Admittedly, this is a grand gesture. But make no mistake; it is an inspired work. I feel driven to write every word exactly as they are presented. So, though the thoughts, feelings and expressions flow from the tip of my pen, driven by my hand, with intricate movements directed by the synapses of my mind, they are of a process I do not own or control.

I need to tell you about a young man I once knew, his name was Michael.

I was ready for marriage. My plans were laid out for a lifetime. I did leave room for periodic modification, but my life was planned. Marriage to a very special person was part of that plan. I loved the concept of growing old with one person. I wanted to see the youthful beauty change and grow into something and someone so much more beautiful.

I believed that time would be good to my wife and I, and that in old age, I would see my wife through the eyes of a lover. I imagined her with stunning white hair, eyes that sparkled with the look of wisdom, peace, and knowledge that she would acquire in time. I imagined her with a beautiful smile, an enchanting smile, a beguiling smile, and I heard the lilt of her laughter polished by the years.

I on the other hand, was to be patient and kind. I never gave any thought to the way I would look. My appeal in old age was to be wise, give comfort, and sound advice.

I imagined Christmas, lovely smells filling our home, laughter, conversations, and children underfoot. I was to be surrounded by children tugging at me, wanting me to play … to be one of them! I’d show them the things my wonderful grandmother and grandfather had shown me. How to make a button twirl on a string. I’d teach them rummy and play old maid, and I would let them win and then tell them how brilliant they were to be able to beat me. I’d give them a hammer, nails, and a board and let them follow me around the shop. I’d pay no attention at all to the messes, the sawdust on their feet, and I’d sing, then stop to hear their soft, childlike voices singing the unknown song just like grandpa. It wouldn’t matter that the words and melody were wrong. The song! The singing of the song mattered!

The dream of my youth was one of peace and tranquility, harmony and love, and wife and family in my old age. My wife was to embrace my vision. Her only task was to include me in her life, and to embrace my vision.

I imagined our home, and how we would prosper. I saw a country home with lots of throw rugs, a fireplace warm and inviting in the living room, Tiffany lamps, and collections of things personal and revealing about the two of us … mementos of a life well spent.

I imagined it would be so inviting to our children and grandchildren, and that my wife’s love of family and me would compel everyone in our extended family to want to be with us often.

My dream was one of Heaven on earth, tempered by the fires of time, struggle, hard work, overcoming great odds, perseverance, and most of all the endurance of my love for her, and her love for me. The destination was to make the journey worthwhile.

I imagined my wife plump in old age, and me mildly senile. I remember thinking "God, how wonderful that will be to have a loving wife to cajole me when I’m old." Kind of like a mother prodding a child, an unsure child. Reminding me to do things I had forgotten to do. Hearing her say, "Michael, you know I told you to do that yesterday, now do it before you forget again!" And then she would laugh and wink and put her hand on my cheek and say, "You are getting so forgetful you old fool, but God do I love you."

I imagined a yard full of flowers with very small white picket fences sectioning off each little garden in creative ways. The way only a wife can dress up a yard. I saw her bustling about our yard dressed in baggy jeans, a well-worn shirt with horizontal stripes, dirt stained tennis shoes, gloves, arms full of weeds, branches, and other undesirables from her Garden of Eden. I could hear her say to spray the yard, mow the grass, let’s eat in the shade of our big tree … the one with the rope swing, next to the teeter totter I built for the grandkids.

There was a magnificent gazebo. A place for holding hands in the cool summers evening, and a place for solace and deep, warm gazes. A place to converse and reminisce about our lives together. A place to rejoice in the reality of life, love, and the products of the two. A place to sojourn with our God, the unique perception that we would create out of our shared spirituality and belief in things mystical and unknown. Things larger and more powerful than "we." Things we came to know and understand not so much out of our practice of religion, but out of our practice of faith ... just simple acceptance and faith. The philosophy of believing as a child was to be our shared philosophy. We were to spend a lifetime in wonder, shared wonder. The kind of union that comes from a life spent sharing the stars, craning your neck to see the twinkling of the night sky. Hearing her say, "Oh! A shooting star! Did you see it Michael? Did you see it?" The song of her voice, the rhapsody of her soft, feminine, childlike voice as I imagined it would be at 65 was all I ever hoped for and needed in old age, along with the message only a love like that could bring. The KNOWLEDGE that love like that could bring, the knowledge, that was the yearning of my youth.

I knew at 21 that the real heart and soul of mankind is revealed by the endurance of living and loving with one person. One very special person whose aspirations parallel yours. One person who shares your wonder. One person to lead and let you follow, then follow when she senses you need to lead. It’s the dance of life, the Majestic Waltz of Creation.

Fireflies in the wind: I was to be one of trillions of fireflies in the wind, and I would never lose sight of her light, no matter how hard the wind blew. I would always see her light and eventually find it. Her light, shown to me by God. Always brighter, always more brilliant than any other. Fireflies in the wind, blown to and fro, but never losing sight of the others brilliance. The beauty only seen by those who learn to love with everything they are, with everything they have. They put their souls into it!

This was the yearning of my youth, its’ mission, discovering life’s purpose … then sharing it forever with one person to love through eternity. It was an honorable mission.

Michael Taylor©