Love Letter to My Wife

of 54 years, who was lost to us all November 12, 2020.

Oh, my darling, how I still miss you. I cherish the memories of our time together, of your presence and of our love, and lament that they can’t ever come again. I still love you as much as ever, and always will.

Shy one, dear one, the keeper of my heart

She moves in the parlor, quietly, apart

She stands against the window, all in the fire’s glow

To an isle in the water, with her I would go

Who was Magdelyn Stanchek Durang? I first pursued her for her beauty, and that turned out to be the least of her virtues. Our mutual friends told me I had greatly “overmarried”; how right they were and how lucky I was.

She was a superb chef, interior decorator, and housekeeper. But most of all, she was a lover. Not only of me, but of her parents, her brothers, her children, her in-laws, and her beloved grandsons. And of our friends, and our children’s friends, she was more than a friend—yes, she loved them all, too.

Every room she entered became warmer and brighter, every person she talked to was happier and inspired to be more like her.

She was too good to me, how can I get along now?

She was a queen to me, who’s going to light my way now?

I often told people, “As selfish as it sounds, I have always hoped she would go first—because I think I would be better prepared to go on alone, and I would not want to leave her alone.”

I’m so glad that our daughter and I were holding her hands when she slipped into her final sleep, knowing how much she was loved.

She probably didn’t know what a comfort it was to me to hear her tell two of the nurses at her bedside that she wished for them as happy a life as she had lived.

Tell me at the end of my life, that whatever else is true

I’ve done what I want the most to do

Tell me that I’ve been good to you