After more than a year together I knew our marriage wasn’t working. As we had no kids, no communal property to speak of it, and little contention between us, it was a relatively simple divorce. The grounds Alan and I agreed on were irreconcilable differences – which I guess is what most divorces are really about.
Actually, though I said there was little contention, the logistics were actually a bit stressful. It was the late 60s and the American divorce laws were being liberalized, and there was a chance that soon the Mexican divorce I was planning on might no longer be recognized in the States. But after some scrambling to get a timely flight to Juarez, I got down there and the dirty deed was done.
At the time I was working at a school not far from the hospital where Alan was a medical resident. One day about a week or so after the divorce, I left work, headed for the faculty parking lot to get my car, and found a bouquet of tulips under the windshield wipers.
I thought it best to ignore his gesture and I didn’t call him, but after a few more weeks and a few more bouquets waiting for me in the parking lot, I relented and agreed to meet Alan at his apartment.
And so for old time’s sake we gave it another try. But we kept running up against those irreconcilable differences, and eventually we said our last goodbye, and with one last kiss we parted.
But all those flowers on my windshield were really rather sweet, don’t you think?
Every Halloween when my son was young he and the other kids in our 17 story apartment building would start on the top floor and work their way down ringing doorbells.
And for the kids who rang our bell, we’d set up a spooky tableau with a floppy plastic skeleton we kept for years. We’d sit Mr Skeleton in our big bentwood rocking chair and festoon him with spiderwebs.
We still have that lovely bentwood rocker, but what ever happened to that floppy old skeleton? And where is that freckle-faced little boy in the astronaut costume?
Our generation may indeed be the last to remember when family doctors made house calls with their little black bags and really got to know their patients. Nowadays with HMOs and PPOs, and pre-authorization, and all the other health insurance red tape and rigamarole, it may seem harder to find a doctor who has the time to get to know you and listen to your concerns.
But thankfully there are still dedicated medical practitioners who’ve taken the Hippocratic Oath seriously, and our wonderful primary care physician Dr Sandy is one. And so several years ago when he transitioned his office to a concierge practice, we were delighted and we stayed on.
We always knew he was a treasure, but since the pandemic he’s been a godsend. He replies to our texts; answers our questions; regularly sends all his patients Covid updates to help us understand the plethora of sometimes confusing information that’s out there about vaccines, variants and boosters; and he allays some of our fears.
So we thank you again Dr Sandy, for your care, your kindness, and your wisdom, and for helping us keep body and soul together!
