It’s been a year since The Dawg died. I – we – lost him in June 2009.
And in June 2010, I married The Duppster.
Only a year? That seems awfully quick to some folks, I’m sure, but the thing is that this is exactly what The Dawg wanted.
I’ve written about it before: The Dawg asked me to move on with my life when he was gone. No, actually he didn’t ask; he told me to do so. Over and over and over. During his last several months, he kept saying he didn’t want me to spend time grieving, that I was too young not to move on. (He was 78; I was 59.)
His expressed desire was a tremendous gift to me, although I didn’t realize it at the time.
For a while I socialized with other women who found themselves “single again” – either as widows or divorcees.
And then, in February of this year, I met Dupp. He seemed just right, and he still does. In fact, he is just right.
The Dawg’s name was Carroll, but over the years, some of his friends called him Carl or Cal. The Duppster’s name is Karl. Somewhat eerie, huh?
There are some similarities between the two and some differences, but there is no reason to compare.
I was blessed to have the time and relationship I had with The Dawg. I am blessed to now have Dupp and our wonderful relationship.
And I am blessed that The Dawg had the foresight to allow me to move on without guilt or regret.
Ecclesiastes 3:1 tells us “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”
I had a wonderful “season” with The Dawg, and now I have a season with Dupp.
I hope this season will be a very long one.