At seventy-six, I rode a bus to try and see my first love after fifty years, yet fate stepped in before I could meet her.
Margaret was my FIRST LOVE.
She was the single woman I truly wished to spend my life with.
But half a century ago, I let her slip away.
It wasn’t for lack of feeling.
I believed she’d fare better without me.
I never took a spouse.
Never became a parent.
Sometimes, our mistakes become part of us.
Six months earlier, I tracked down her name online.
I didn’t think she’d reply.
But she did.
We talked for four HOURS our first call.
Then more calls followed.
Eventually, each evening was filled with conversation, almost erasing the fifty-year gap.
One night, she murmured:
"I wish we'd had ONE MORE CHANCE."
Neither one of us could get any sleep following that.
A week passed before she sent me her ADDRESS.
I looked at it for nearly an hour.
I sold my aging truck.
Brought one suitcase with me.
And at seventy-six, I bought a single bus ticket.
This journey carried more weight than any before.
I felt as if I was coming back to an unfinished past.
At seventy-six, I rode a bus to try and see my first love after fifty years, yet fate stepped in before I could meet her. P2
