This is a piece I wrote upon remembering the passing of my unborn daughter in 1982.

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Life has a funny, almost ironic way of bringing each of us full circle in our lives, doesn’t it? We expend so much time and energy in the building of our adult lives as we try to forget those things which have bought us so much pain, regret or sadness, while those things that we want to remember or recall all too often evade our grasp, like so many wisps of smoke slipping through our fingers. We experience so many things in the course of our lives, so many emotions and events- happiness, sadness, anger, pain, frustration, deaths, births, disappointments, successes- and whether we like it or not most of this baggage sticks with us, as if attached by Velcro.

In spite of all the good and bad that we may experience in our lives, human nature keeps us persevering to move ahead in this amazing journey we call life.

As I alluded to earlier, whether we like it or not, life will always bring us full circle.

Enough with the mystery. I will now try to explain.

I am here in my den, shrouded in the early morning darkness, the rain outside lightly drumming on the slate roof of our four bedroom Spanish style home. The wall clock’s luminescent display shows 2:37 a.m., while outside a muted streetlight casts gentle shadows through the thin material of the curtained window. I am trying to understand why I am sitting here wide awake at this incredibly early hour, my favorite dark blue robe wrapped around me against the chill. My shift at the hospital where I work as a pediatric ICU nurse starts in four hours, and I am badly in need of sleep after another restless night.

Hanna, the love of my life and my best friend of over 25 years is sound asleep down the hallway, buried under the comforter in our California king bed, while our Pembroke Welsh Corgi Heidi softly snores next to her. Our twin daughters Cassidy and Terese are deep in slumber upstairs, 17 years old and nearly grown, both of them (thank God) taking after their mother in both appearance and disposition. 

I had awakened about 30 minutes earlier from an increasingly recurring dream, the voices and images in my mind so real, so vivid that it had scared me awake. The name Emily had been running through my mind, a name that suddenly unleashed a torrent of long forgotten memories. 

I am now sitting here in front at my laptop, the screen aglow in the otherwise dark room, and without a conscious thought my fingers begin to dance over the keyboard, as if empowered with a mind and will of their own, as it all floods back over me like a New Orleans levee breaking during Hurricane Katrina.

It was the early summer of 1982. I had just turned 21, and after nearly two years of service in the U.S. Navy, I felt as if I had finally achieved manhood. I stood 5'10 and was 175 pounds of male bravado and youthful confidence, and had been assigned to the Naval Submarine Base at Point Loma as a U.S. Navy corpsman. The previous spring I had disengaged (a Navy term for dropping out) from Operating Room Technician School at the Naval Regional Medical Center. The sterile conditions, tedious tasks and outright boredom of the surgical suite had gotten the best of me, so I had intentionally failed two consecutive exams, earning an automatic drop from the program. In retaliation, the Navy cut me a set of orders to the fleet and assigned me to the medical department of the USS Sperry, a submarine tender in support of subs while they were in port and on patrol. They thought the discipline of the fleet might knock the cocky attitude out of me. (Did it work? Just ask my wife and friends)

One Saturday afternoon in April, my best friend Eddie had called me and invited me to go horseback riding down in Imperial Beach along with Tyler, another friend of ours. Low on funds, with payday four days away and bored to tears on my day off, I had said sure. I got on my recently purchased Yamaha 400, waved to the guard at the gate then proceeded over to meet the guys at the apartment complex just north of Balboa Park where they both lived. They were stationed at the Naval Hospital, as was Eddie’s wife Lisa. This was where the three of us had met while we lived in the base barracks after our arrival in San Diego. 

After arriving at Tyler’s, we had a quick beer then had piled into Eddie’s little yellow Toyota and headed south on I-5, catching up as it had been several weeks since we had all had the chance to get together.

Eddie and Lisa had been married in January of that year, and I had been the best man. Tyler and I were both single, and occasionally migrated to Eddie and Lisa’s for one of her delicious home cooked meals and some cold Miller Light. 

It had been a beautiful sunny afternoon, and we had rented three horses and spent the afternoon riding along the sandy ocean beaches and trails, enjoying the day and the light Pacific breeze as it came onshore. We were on our way back to the stables, tired, legs cramped and with sore backsides when from behind I heard a female voice saying hello. I slowed down and turned my horse around, and there she sat- her red hair in a ponytail moving in the breeze, those emerald green eyes glistening even across the distance and oh my God, that smile. I returned her greeting as we dismounted from our horses and introduced ourselves. Eddie and Tyler had paused up ahead and looked back at me. I waved them on, telling them that I would catch up with them back at the stables. 

Now let me just say this- I was no lady’s man, but I was definitely more attractive than say, Victor Hugo’s hunchbacked bell ringer. I truly wanted to see that smile again as we began to walk our horses back, slowly I might add, and made small talk along the way, sand from the trail filling our sneakers as we walked.

Her name was Sandy, she was 22 and a second year education major at San Diego State. I told her a little about me, the usual nervous getting to know you banter you engage in. When we arrived back at the stables, we checked our horses in, stood awkwardly for a moment, then I surprised both of us when I asked Sandy if she would like to have dinner or catch a movie sometime. She had smiled and said that would be really nice. She borrowed a pen from the stable keeper who had checked in our horses and had written her phone number on the back of a business card for the stables, smiled and touched my hand as she handed me the card, said goodbye, then climbed into her car. I met up with my very patient friends, loaded into Eddie’s car, sore butts and all, and headed home for a guy’s night of pizza and beer as Lisa had gone out of town to Santa Barbara to visit her parents. (Funny isn’t it, how a routine everyday task like taking (or not taking) a phone call can alter your entire life?)

Sandy and I met for dinner later that week, at a little Italian place named La Scala’s that I had discovered in my time in San Diego. It was one of those little family owned places that once you find it you wanted to keep it to yourself. I had arrived first, and when Sandy walked into the place a few minutes later I was stunned. She had on a pair of black jeans, a green silk blouse and her red hair down. She was truly a captivating sight and I can truly say I felt outclassed. We were seated at a nice, quiet corner table, as Sandy ordered a glass of house red wine and I asked for a Coors to go with the delicious ante pasta platter. I have to say that the way Sandy looked and smiled at me, I felt like the luckiest guy in all of San Diego. Sandy told me that she had always wanted to be a special education teacher, and told me about how she and her mom had moved to San Diego two years earlier to get a fresh start after her dad had passed away back in Ohio. She was a full time student and worked part time as a waitress to help with her schooling, as I joked that I would definitely tip her more than 15%. Her mom was a manager for Mutual of Omaha, and had accepted a transfer to San Diego after her husband died. I told her about me, my family in northern California, my job in the Navy, and casually mentioned that I was up for rotation in August when our ship was de-commissioned. She asked where I was going after that, and I told her that I hadn’t received orders yet. I noticed that she only sipped at her wine, while I had nervously worked on my second beer. I had asked her if her wine was okay, and she said it was fine, she just was not a big drinker, whereas I immediately took charge and ordered my date a nice fresh iced tea with lemon. 

Our dinners arrived, preceded by the wonderful aroma of salad, garlic bread and fresh pasta, mine the spaghetti and meatballs, hers the lasagna, as we continued talking about movies, books, and engaged in the ritualistic first date small talk. 

I introduced her to Stephen King’s classics The Stand and Carrie, neither of which she had ever read, and I promised that I would let her borrow my copies. She asked if I had ever played chess or backgammon, and was very surprised when I told her that I was actually quite proficient at a similar version of backgammon called Acey-Deucy, which we played on board the ship to pass the time. I asked her if she had been to Sea World since she had arrived in San Diego, and was surprised when she said no, so I rolled the dice and asked if she might like to go sometime. With a sly little look, those cat-like green eyes seemed to probe to see if I was serious. She said that she would love to go, and I was impressed at my ability to contain my excitement at the chance to spend an entire day with this lovely woman. We had continued to chat about various things, work, school, family while we ate, then topped off the always delicious meal with a scoop of the home made spumoni made by and delivered to our table by chubby little Mama La Scala herself.

After dinner Sandy followed me back to the base to drop off my motorcycle, then we drove out to Seaport Village, where we walked around and watched the ships in the distance. We laughed at the oily black seals as they splashed in the dark harbor water, Sandy nick- naming one of the chubbier ones Lou and his slightly thinner friend Bud. (Sandy was a huge Abbott and Costello fan, where as I prefer the Little Rascals, which lends validity to my theory that opposites really can and do attract) We bought some bread crumbs and tossed them to the seagulls, then watched as the USS Ranger made its way under the Coronado bridge, it’s lights bright in the clear night sky as it returned from its six month West Pacific deployment. As we stood watching the huge carrier, Sandy had gently slipped her hand into mine, soft and cool in the night air and asked me if the Sperry was that big. I explained that we were much smaller, designed more for speed than the carriers. I also told her that we were due to pull out next Sunday for seven or eight days for our final series of exercises, but that I would really like to call her when I got back. She squeezed my hand and smiled, then told me that I had better call her or she would have to chat with my boss. When I informed her that my boss Ron lived in the big White House at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue back in Washington, we had laughed, then walked some more and talked, our fingers intertwined, and eventually made our way to her little red hatchback where we shared our first gentle kiss. We stood there and enjoyed the night and the smell of the sea air, and at that moment things just seemed right with the world. It was the kind of night you never want to end, but always does.

My ship, delayed by unusually bad weather, pulled back into port 10 days later, and we were all exhausted due to the long hours and the extra time at sea. Two nights earlier we had been forced to take our small boat out to one of the submarines to retrieve a crew member who had suffered a heart attack. It had been an extremely long and arduous task, first to get the unfortunate sailor out of the cramped spaces of the sub, then to load him into the small boat and back to the Sperry as we were tossed around in the pitch black night seas. I would compare it to riding a roller coaster without a restraint bar, so you can understand. We brought our shipmate back on board and fought to keep him alive, but unfortunately he passed away shortly after being brought aboard, and when we finally pulled back into port we gently offloaded his body into the waiting ambulance while our captain contacted his family.

Let me say this for the record. I have lost many patients in my long career, but this was my first one, and I tell you, it is a humbling, lousy feeling that no amount of training or experience can prepare you for. It sticks with you for a lifetime.

We had tied up our loose ends, gotten everything squared away in the department and I was headed out the hatch with my laundry bag full of dirty wet clothes when my sea daddy, an older guy named Casper hollered out that I had a call. I found this surprising since only my mom and Eddie had the number here. I went back in to take the call, and when I heard Sandy’s voice, I had been pleasantly surprised. I tossed my dirty laundry bag at Casper and grabbed a seat while I put my feet up on his desk. I asked how she had gotten my number, as she reminded me that I had given it to her over our dinner at La Scala. Extremely happy to hear her sweet voice after the depressing events of the past few days, we talked for a while, and I reluctantly told her that I needed to go do some laundry. She had then caught me off guard and asked what I had planned that weekend. I told her that I had the weekend off, and she reminded me about my invitation to visit Sea World. I told her it still stood as an open invite, and we agreed to meet at the base gate on Saturday morning at around 9:30. Saying a quick goodbye, I grabbed my laundry bag, blew a kiss to Casper who had been making obscene gestures towards me while I had been talking to Sandy, then headed down the gangway and made my way to the base laundry facility, which was conveniently stocked with a beer machine. (One of the Navy’s better ideas) I threw my dirty clothes in, took a seat as I sucked down several Coors and munched on some pretzels, then tossed my clothes in to dry. Once they had dried, I folded them neatly (just like the Navy had taught me to do) and made my way back to the ship for some rest.

When I got back, my senior chief was there and had asked to see me in his office, which made me very nervous. He told me to have a seat, set down his ever present coffee cup (this made me even more nervous as we had always assumed it was a permanent part of his anatomy.) then told me that my orders had come through, and I was being assigned to Field Medical Service School at Camp Pendleton. This was great news as I had wanted to get dirty and play with guns, and this was my golden opportunity to do just that. In true senior chief fashion, he congratulated me, then warned me to be careful what I wished for, because I just might get it. I thanked him for the well-intentioned advice and the good news, stowed my gear and hit my rack for some much needed sleep.

The next morning I called my mom with the news of my orders, then called Eddie, who was ironically already in attendance at Field Med School. He had received orders to Camp Kinser on the island of Okinawa. His wife Lisa was less than thrilled with this, but she was a Navy wife and understood. I told him that I would keep him posted on my assignment, said I would call later and hung up. Since it was the Saturday, I grabbed a quick shower, got dressed, threw on some nice cologne, which drew applause from RJ and Kevin, the two corpsman on duty for the weekend, and bailed. I made my way quickly to the front gate and spotted Sandy’s familiar little red Honda. I climbed in the passenger’s side, leaned over for a quick kiss and had told her I was hers for the day. 

We spent the entire day at Sea World, watching the sea lion shows, the otter show, the dolphin exhibits and of course the world famous Shamu. We got along very well, and laughed more than I had in a long time and truly enjoyed the beautiful day. Sandy held my hand almost the entire time, which was fine by me. I bought her a three foot long stuffed whale which she immediately named Shirley, we had our pictures taken with a life -sized hammerhead shark, and of course with Shamu, and we really seemed to be genuinely interested in one another. When we finally left early in the evening, we were both tired from the day’s activities but nowhere near ready for the day to end. While we walked back to her car Sandy had asked if I would like to come over for dinner, and I of course said yes. She smiled shyly, and said that she had a new recipe she wanted to try out, then added that her mom was up in Los Angeles for the weekend on business. Poker face in place, I said that sounded wonderful, as the butterflies did somersaults in my stomach.

We had driven back to Sandy’s place in El Cajon, washed up and listened to the radio while Sandy prepared a baked orange glazed chicken dish, a green salad and au gratin potatoes, and I must admit it was terrific. I did draw missile fire from Sandy when I gave her a hard time about the use of the peels in the glaze, and I was really glad there wasn’t anything harder in the glaze recipe than the orange peels. We effortlessly continued our conversation over dinner, and I even helped her to clear the dishes, a task I learned from growing up with two older sisters.

After dinner we sat on the sofa and let dinner settle, holding hands and talking some more, then decided to drive down to Olde Town to get some fresh air and do some window shopping. I was flattered and a little shocked when she handed me the car keys, as I had quickly learned how protective Sandy was of her little red Honda.

At a small curio shop in Olde Town I purchased a small stone necklace for Sandy that she had been admiring, my eyes keenly aware that it was very close to the shade of green in her eyes. Sandy had politely declined the elderly sales ladies offer to hook it for her, and instead asked me if I would do the honors. Her shampoo filled my senses as I fastened the delicate clasp of the chain around her slender neck, and I was pretty sure the sales lady knew what Sandy was up to by the sly little wink I saw them exchange.

Afterwards we split an ice cream cone, had a small caricature portrait done, did some more window shopping, then decided to head back to Sandy’s place.

I was a little nervous as we returned to her apartment, but we kicked off our shoes and flopped on the sofa to watch Casablanca, one of Sandy’s favorite movies which had just come on. We sat close as we watched the movie, my arm around her shoulder as Bogie bade farewell to Ingrid Bergman, then as the credits rolled we began to kiss gently, like a couple of junior high school kids, tentatively at first, then with more intensity. I had only been involved with two previous girlfriends and my nervousness was apparent, and by the way she trembled I could tell that Sandy was just as scared as I was about where this might go. After some more very enjoyable time on the sofa, Sandy looked me in the eyes, stood up and took my hand and led me towards her room as she told me that she did not want to be alone that night with her mom gone. On my feet, I asked her, in full macho mode, if that was the real reason. As she gave me that smile that melted my heart, she led me to her bedroom, while I felt like the big protector, and with “Weekend in New England" playing softly on the radio, she came to me in answer to my question, as I gently closed her door and we let nature rid us of our nervousness.

Sandy and I saw each other throughout June and July and got together whenever we could, but with the de-commissioning of the ship I was pulling 18 hour days. We did manage several picnic lunches in Balboa Park, one of our favorite places, as well as some midnight movies and a day trip to the Wild Animal Park north of San Diego.

In mid-July I was granted two days off to drive my motorcycle back home to drop it off at my mother’s place since my orders weren’t set for after school. I flew back down to San Diego two days later and Sandy picked me up at Lindbergh Field, with a big hug and kiss. She looked radiant, then told me she wanted to take me out so we could spend some time together. 

At the little coffee shop in El Cajon where she worked, we ordered dinner while we sat and talked. Sandy introduced me to several of her co-workers, then listened as I told her about my 600 mile ride north to drop off my bike, yet she also seemed slightly preoccupied. Over a delicious appetizer plate Sandy had suddenly stopped and looked at me, then asked me how I felt about children. I nearly choked on the deep fried mushroom that I had just eaten, as I told her I thought that children were great. She reached across the table, took my hands in hers and asked me how I felt about her. As I looked into her face, I told her that I was crazy about her, then asked if she wanted to tell me something. 

Sandy looked at me, smiled then looked down at her belly as my heart skipped several beats. With her index finger she made a come closer motion, so I leaned in across the table and kissed her- “I’m pregnant.” 

When I asked if she was sure, she said yes, that both her test and the doctor’s test were positive and that she was about seven to eight weeks along. I wanted to jump and shout the news, but restrained myself, instead choosing to sit and hold hands, as we talked about us, my leaving in 3 weeks for school, her school, and our options. From our many long talks, we knew we were both adamantly opposed to abortion, and it was obvious that we both wanted this baby. We talked about my orders after school, about marriage and I told her I could probably get orders for Camp Pendleton. 

We talked late into the evening, as I drank coffee and she sipped water and diet 7-up, and surprisingly enough, I wasn’t the least bit scared or apprehensive. When she dropped me off back at the base I softly touched her belly through her blouse, kissed her and told her I’d call her tomorrow. She gave a little honk as she drove away, and I made my way back on-board where Casper asked if I was okay. With a grin like a drunken fool, I told him I had never been better, then went to my bunk and laid down. Wow. A baby.

Sandy and I talked every night over the next three weeks, and saw each other as much as possible. Eddie left for Okinawa, (without any knowledge about my current situation) Tyler received orders for instructor duty in Great Lakes, and the second week of August I packed my gear and said good bye to my shipmates from the Sperry. Sandy had taken the day off of work to drive me up to Oceanside. As I tossed my bags carefully into the back of her car, I told her we had a stop to make on the way. She looked at me quizzically, but smiled (God I loved when she did that) and said okay.

Jake, a friend and old classmate of mine was an ultrasound tech at the Naval Hospital, and was going to do what we now days referred to as a curbside consult. (Back then it was called a favor) When we got to the x-ray department, I had barely knocked on the door when Jake opened it, greeted us and took us in back. I introduced him to Sandy, he said hello and shook her hand then helped her onto the exam table. He had her lay back, pull up her blouse, applied the gel to her belly, then began to gently use the magic wand, here, there, looking at the screen, as Sandy and I held hands, our nerves vibrating like a pair of tuning forks.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jake leaned in closer to look at the monitor, his brow furrowed, then sat back, a huge smile on his face. He asked me if I owned a shotgun. Confused, I said yes, that I had several back home, but why? He looked at us and said because I was going to need them to keep the boys away from our little girl.

I don’t know who cried more, me or Sandy. We were having a baby girl.

I drove and we talked all the way to Oceanside, about us, our daughter, our future. We discussed names from the Book of 1001 Baby Names that Sandy’s mom had purchased for us, with some yes’s and many no’s. By the time we got to Carlsbad, we had decided on Emily for the first name, but could not yet agree on the middle name. I sensed that Sandy was scared, and she confirmed my suspicions, as she expressed concerns about how fast everything was going, while I reassured her with my best sailor/boyfriend/expectant father tone that everything was going to be fine. When we arrived at the base, we pulled over and I leaned over to kiss her. She took my face in those gentle hands, and for the first time she told me that she loved me. I told her I loved her also, kissed her again, hugged her tightly then told her to drive safely and said I would call her that night. I grabbed my gear, helped her into the driver’s seat, closed the door then stood back as she drove away. I went up to the guardhouse, showed them my orders and waited for my ride to the school.

We talked every night and got together when our schedules permitted, which unfortunately was not often. I had not told anyone about the baby yet, since I still had to come to terms with everything that was happening. School was very hectic, with classes, P.T. (physical training) and studying and it kept me extremely busy. Sandy came up one Saturday in late September when we both managed to arrange a weekend off, and we drove down to Carlsbad, a lovely little town just south of Oceanside. We window shopped and looked at baby stuff, then caught an early dinner and a movie before we retired to our room. We got up early Sunday morning, grabbed a quick shower, ate breakfast at a quiet little coffee shop, then Sandy drove me back and dropped me off back at base as she had to get home and study. She was getting regular checkups, was taking her prenatal vitamins and was progressing well. The baby clearly showed now, and I must admit I loved the feel of that sweet baby bump. In mid-October I spoke to my detailer, who told me he had spots open at Camp Pendleton, Twenty Nine Palms (in the Mojave Desert) or at the air base on Okinawa. I asked him for Pendleton, as I thought this this would work out perfectly. I called Sandy to give her the good news, which made her very happy that we could be together and still be close to San Diego and her mom. I also told her that we were scheduled to go out to the field for a week long exercise, told her I loved her and that I would call tomorrow.

As the weekend approached to leave for the field, my classmates and I were like little kids. We wanted to get dirty, shoot guns (albeit with blanks) and practice our skills in a real time scenario. I called Sandy the Friday before we left, and we talked, her about school, me about this crazy place and us about how she was feeling. She said she felt good, had had some mild cramps but nothing unusual. She asked if she could come up after she got off work on Saturday to see me before we left for the field, and, guiltily I had said no. I told her we had a ton of work to do before we left on Sunday, gear to pack, assignments to prepare for the field and a hundred other things to do, all of which were absolutely true, but really I just wanted to hit the club with my friends to blow off some steam. She sounded disappointed, but said that she understood. I whispered I love you to her, then asked if I could say good night to Emily. I could almost see her smile through the phone lines as Sandy placed the phone against her belly so I could whisper goodnight to our unborn daughter. Sandy told me to be careful, and I told her I would call when we got back.

A week in the field may have sounded good at first, but on Monday it started to rain, not a warm summer California rain, but an October rain which chilled us to the bone, and which kept up the entire week. (My old senior chief’s words rang true every rain drenched minute) You name it, it got soaked- us, our packs, our weapons, our extra uniforms, everything- we were mud drenched, three people get lost and one of our classmates had to be flown out by chopper with a ruptured spleen after a fall during a nighttime mass casualty exercise. (Talk about irony) By the time we straggled back to base on Friday afternoon, we must have been a pathetic sight. I just wanted a hot shower, some dry clothes and to get out of that damned cold rain. 

We got to the barracks, started the nearly impossible task of cleaning our rifles and other gear as well as ourselves. Once everything was cleaned and mud free, I soaked in the shower for nearly five minutes and allowed the hot water to wash away a week’s worth of mud, blood and crud. (For those who have ever served in the military, you know five minutes in a hot shower is a lifetime of luxury.) I toweled off, pulled on my jeans, a sweatshirt, and sat on the edge of my bunk to pull on my boots, when my buddy Mack, the duty Marine came in and told me I had a message as he handed me the note. It was from Angela, Sandy’s mom, with an urgent message to call. I noticed it had come in Thursday morning around 10:00, almost 30 hours earlier. I ran to the barracks pay phone and dialed her number, as my chest tightened and my hands trembled. When Angela answered I said hi, then asked her what was wrong. She told me that Sandy had begun to cramp severely late Tuesday evening, and then began bleeding heavily early Wednesday morning, so she had taken her to Scripps Hospital E.R. The physician had done a full exam, which included an ultrasound, and had informed Sandy that she had unfortunately suffered a miscarriage. 

Sandy had been devastated, and her mom had held her while she had sobbed inconsolably. They had released her home in her mom’s care, after they gave Sandy some Valium to make her sleep. Her mom knew that I was out in the field, but had wanted to make sure that I knew what had happened as soon as I got back. I asked if I could talk to Sandy, and her mom, who was indeed a truly wonderful woman, had taken the phone into Sandy. When she got on the phone, I tried to talk, but all either of us could do was cry. I fought to compose myself as I told her that I was going to drive down immediately, but she said no, that she just wanted to be alone right now. I was stung by this, (see, pay-back is indeed a bitch) and I told her to get some rest, told her I loved her, and I would call her that evening, and reassured her she could call anytime.

As I slammed down the phone, I stood, not sure how or what I felt. My friend Mugsy came up behind me and asked if I was okay. I shook my head, shrugged him off and told him yeah, I was fine, then went back to my rack and grabbed my jacket. I felt dead inside as guilt washed over me like the rain which continued to fall outside.

I decided that the best thing for me was a heavy dose of self -medication, so I caught a cab ride to the enlisted club at the base hospital, and went on what can best be described as a three day bender crammed into six hours. I had two goals in mind: 1) to drink until they cut me off or 2) to drink until my cash ran out. I figured if I was being punished, then I might as well be really bad. The more I drank, the worse my guilt became and the angrier I became, and I wanted to hit someone or something. I convinced myself that this was all my fault, that if I had just let Sandy come up last Saturday, God would not have let this happen. I was shocked that my money held out until the bar closed, when two slightly less drunk Marines who knew me from school poured me into their cab and got me back to the barracks. (God bless them for that kindness) I vaguely recall the way I staggered into the barracks and made my way to my rack, and just let the sweet blackness to take me away.

At around 2:30 that afternoon, Mugsy shook me awake, telling me I had been crying in my sleep and thrashing about. I got up and ran to the head to puke, then came back with a strong desire to get the dead cat taste out of my mouth. I grabbed my shower gear, soaked in the shower while I brushed my teeth, then went back to my rack and dry swallowed three Tylenol for my throbbing head and put on some clean clothes. I made my way to the pay-phone and dialed Sandy’s number as my head pounded. 

When Sandy answered, I said hi, and apologized for not calling last night. She said it was okay, as she had been passed out from the drugs they had given her. We talked for a bit, but I think we were both emotionally and physically wiped out. She asked what my schedule was for the next week, and I told her we had finals through Thursday. She asked if she could come up on Friday after she got out of class to come see me and I said sure, that I’d love to see her, as my guilt meter climbed higher. I told her I would call her tomorrow to see how she was, and she told me that she and her mom were going to the early church service, but they would be home by noon. I told her that I loved her, and she reciprocated, but everything just felt different now.

The first thing Monday morning I called my detailer in Washington and asked if the spot at the air-base in Okinawa was still available. When he told me it was, I told him to modify the assignment, then took a long drink of my coffee to wash down the black lump of guilt and pain that was lodged in my throat.

I met Sandy Friday evening at the small coffee shop we had found on our previous weekend in Carlsbad. I had borrowed Mugsy’s truck, and met her around 6:00. When she got out of her car, we came together and hugged tightly. Her eyes, usually a vibrant sharp green, now appearing dulled and lifeless. We went in and sat down in a booth, as we held hands and cried and talked about everything that had transpired. We talked about us, how we felt about each other, and then I broke the news to her that my orders had been modified and I was due to leave for Japan in a week. My heart truly broke when I told her this, yet at the same time I think I saw a mixture of something which resembled both regret and relief under the pained look on that angelic face. (Maybe this was wishful thinking on my part, something I will never know) We sat and talked until nearly midnight drinking coffee, and I realized just how deeply I loved and was going to miss this wonderful, special woman. When we finally left I walked Sandy to her car, gave her a genuine full hug, accepted her embrace and kiss, and helped her into her car. She rolled her window down, as I knelt next to her door. I leaned in and kissed her gently, as I noticed that she was wearing the lovely necklace we had purchased, while she looked me squarely in the face, her emerald eyes glazed over with unshed tears for our sweet Emily. 

“She would have been beautiful you know,” she said, as I fought back tears at her words. As we kissed one final time, she told me she did love me, and I told her I did as well. 

As Sandy drove away that night, I leaned against the white Ford truck, watching her taillights disappear into the darkness, which ironically mirrored the blackness in my soul. I let the tears begin to flow, got in the truck, lit one of Mugsy’s nasty cigars and made my way back to base.

I left for Okinawa six days later, glad (or so I thought) to be leaving everything behind. Upon returning to my base in February 1983 from a temporary assignment to South Korea, I was a little shocked that among my waiting mail was a letter, minus a return address except for the name Sandy. I am not sure how she found me, but I am glad that she did. It was just a short note, saying hi, that she and her mom were doing well, school was hard but going good, and hoping that I was doing well also. She mentioned that she hoped the letter reached me by February 17th, which was supposed to have been our very special day, and this brought tears to my eyes, as I’m sure it did to hers when she wrote it. I didn’t respond to her letter, nor do I think she wanted me to, but I do agree- Emily-no middle name green eyes would have been a beautiful baby.

My legs and back are aching, as I haven’t moved in almost three hours and I am exhausted, both physically and mentally at the emotional load I have just absorbed. I am shocked to read what has appeared on my screen, as I realize, that after almost three decades, 30 years, only three people really knew about this time in my life. My parents, now both deceased, my wife, my friends, nobody ever knew about this.

I cannot figure out why I buried it for so long, except to say that I was just an insecure, stupid young man at that time, scared and angry at our loss and the feeling that I let Sandy down. God didn’t punish me for lying to Sandy that night, and I sadly realize that my repression of this cherished memory of my daughter is more punishment than God could have ever put upon me.

I wish Sandy much happiness and love in her life, wherever she is and whatever she is doing, and I have to wonder if she ever thinks about our Emily. I wonder too, what Emily would have looked like and how her (and our) lives would have turned out. I will undoubtedly carry these very same thoughts with me until my final days.

Down the hallway I hear the alarm clock going off, and my wife and girls will be getting up soon. The clock shows 5:29, the calendar February 17th, 2009.

Today my Emily would have turned 26.

I think after dinner tonight I will sit my wife and daughters down in our family room. I will build a warm fire in the fireplace, and we will turn off the phone and the television. Warmed by my love and cups of hot chocolate, I will slowly and gently tell them a previously untold story about the innocence of youth, the power and strength of love, the inevitable mistakes that we all make and the true meaning of redemption and forgiveness.

By R.L. Seago

From: United States

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