My love, sweet Marella, died in 1962; a savage colon cancer took her out.
Only 18, just beginning life to be my forever wife ended.
The day she died I think subconsciously I wanted to drink myself to death.
That mournful night I drank beer, whisky, wine, and other drinks I can’t remember.
I passed out, when I don’t know, woke up in the Emergency Room and was doing okay under the critical circumstances until I remembered Marella was dead.
Perhaps because I was little more than a lamenting, lifeless corpse full of booze crying uncontrollable tears, I died of a broken heart when my ticker stopped ticking and I was clinically dead.
Above my body watching doctors frantically trying to save me, I didn’t want to go back to my devastated life without Marella, my sweet Marella.
As if she read my thoughts, Marella appeared before me in spirit, dressed in a white glowing gown looking more beautiful and more radiant than she ever did on earth.
Transmitting thoughts, reading each others minds, talking was impossible, we swore a love allegiance, and Marella told me as surely as the stars lit up the night sky we’d be together again and forever.
Cruelly, at that glorious, unforgettable moment I was slammed back into my body, a doctor pounding paddles on my chest, the feel of my body heavy and uncomfortable after being in my light, ethereal body.
Now each night I meet Marella in dreams, and a dream wife is good enough for me, my love for her strong enough to wait until I really die and I’m reunited with my sweet Marella forever.
Bob Boyd
