I was heading for the Garden Crest dining room when a guy I didn’t know handed me a note and walked away, soon lost in a crowd of people.
I stopped and opened the folded note.
It read, “Morrie, you have lived three lives.”
I thought about what the note said.
Obviously the writer of the note knew me. He was right. I did live three lives.
I lived in Harlem, N.Y., until the age of 14. Then I moved to the Bronx with new surroundings, new friends.
My next move was to Brooklyn, where I lived for about a year and then to Los Angeles, Calif., where I have been since.
Since the age of 14, when I decided to see what Canada looked like, my early life was filled with movement.
My curiosity was insatiable. I started traveling with a $10 bill in my wallet, and as a backup, a $20 bill in my shoe. I traveled during the worst of our Depression years, 1929 to 1934.
The moment I saw you, I instantly new, for me there would be no one else but you.
Though we met by chance at a wedding dance,
It was the start of our romance.
Then one day you changed my life,
My girl became my wife.
We traveled the world. We saw many strange lands, but always happy to come home holding hands.
We raised a family of whom we are proud,
just the two of us became a crowd.
I see your face before me, your crooked smile,
Your twinkling eyes.
Eighty years we spent together, good times I will never forget.
But nothing lasts forever, what will be will be,
Posterity will know our story,
The great love between you and me.
So, Betty Doll, I bid you adieu
And to the finest person I ever knew.
I love you,
(July 22, 2020)