Bobby Part 8- Epilogue: Cycle of Pain, Tears, Anger, Regrets and Bobby.

GETTING STUCK, TRYING TO MOVE ON
After Bobby died, for a long while, I shut up and shut down, trying to move from one day to the next. I no longer shared what I was feeling, how much I missed Bobby. If I didn't understand why I hurt so badly, how would anyone else?

Every hope, every dream I had held on to for the past three years ended when Bobby died. I felt lost, like I had no direction. Common sense told me no one would understand the sense of loss I felt. I knew if you added all the time Bobby and I shared, the crazy chance encounters, spring break, the times we talked, Mum's, it would total no more than a few days. The equivalent of a wonderful weekend spread out over the course of 3 years. How was it possible for such a short amount of time to have such a huge impact on someone’s life, my life? How could a normal person comprehend what I was feeling when what I was feeling was not normal? I learned to play the game of life is fine, when really it wasn't. Good and bad, I kept every thing inside. I may not have talked about Bobby but he was very much with me every day.

For several months Bobby's letter was my nightly ritual. After saying my prayers, before turning off my light, I would read his letter, gently lay it on the bed next to me. I would fall asleep with my hand resting on it. His p.s. meant the most. I would run my finger over it time and time again. That one sentence was the most wonderful gift he gave me. From the moment I had made the decision to have and keep my daughter I worried that I had ruined any and all chances I might have with him one day. In that wonderful short sentence, Bobby let me know it was okay, I made the right choice. He did not care who the father was, only me. Like his brother Kevin, he could look past my mistakes. Every night when I read his letter, as tears streamed down my cheeks, I was aware I was in essence torturing myself, yet I could not stop. As long as I read his letter, as long as it laid next to me every night, he was still present in my life. I was not ready to let him go, live with out him. I needed a small part of him, even if it was only a letter.

When Bobby died, for months I was so angry with God. I had asked God to always be with Bobby, watch over him. I was convinced God had not heard my prayers. I believed he took Bobby from me. I blamed God for his death. It would take months for me to let go of my anger, listen to God, forgive myself for doubting him, my faith.

One August morning while I was pushing my daughter on a swing, I heard the familiar sounds of approaching army helicopters. During the summer it was common place to see the helicopters fly overhead on their training missions to and from Fort Meade. The sight and sounds of the helicopters brought tears to my eyes. They were a constant reminder of Bobby’s crash, his death. That morning I watched them as they headed back toward Fort Meade, tears once again began to fill my eyes. It was a typical August day, hazy, hot and humid. Stifling heat, nothing was moving, not the air, not the birds, everything was stagnant. As I watched the sun reflect off the helicopter rotors, a random summer breeze blew threw my hair out of no where. The breeze felt the same as it did that night in Pensacola. I closed my eyes to enjoy it’s coolness, as I did I saw Bobby, saw his smile. I could feel him in that breeze. For that one moment I was in heaven, I was with him. I did not want to open my eyes, let him go. For months I convinced myself if God had been with Bobby he would have never crashed, he would still be alive. As I closed my eyes, stood still, felt him, saw his face, his eyes, I understood. I heard God. When Bobby crashed, that was when he needed God to be with him the most. God didn't cause Bobby to crash, he held him when he died. God did answer my prayers, it was not the way I envisioned they would be answered. As the helicopters began to fade away in the distance I asked God to forgive me, to please be with Bobby's family, give them the strength I never had. After that day whenever the helicopters flew overhead, my eyes still had tears in them, but they were accompanied by a smile. I finally realized instead of being angry with God, I needed to thank him. Bobby was able to do what few other men could, he got to fly. If only for a short while, Bobby lived his dream. He earned his wings of gold. Bobby was a naval aviator. He was happy. For that I thanked God.

After Bobby's death, I concluded maybe some people aren't meant to be happy, they aren't meant to be in relationships, they are meant to live alone. Maybe I was that person. I convinced myself I needed to be happy with what I had, not want more. Wanting only lead to hurt, pain. The men I cared for, the men I loved, did two things, they hurt me (Martin) and they left me (Bobby). Two years later when my daughter's father called, announcing he was getting married but he had a "slight" problem. His future wife gave him an ultimatum, if he wanted to marry her, he had to abandon, have nothing to do with our child, his child. That afternoon, over the phone, he walked away from his daughter, his blood. I tried to convince him if he left it would be a mistake he would regret. He had already made up his mind. A bond that is suppose to be stronger than any, that of a parent to a child, he had no trouble breaking. The father of my child walked out of her life. His actions would “seal the deal” with my relationship/trust with men for many years. The third strike was added to the previous two, men cheat/lie, they leave me (die) and that afternoon I learned they abandon their children. Men caused nothing but pain in my life. I had been lost and tired for too long. Men to me were an affliction I did not have the strength to deal with. I decided it was better to go it alone, forget about men, I did not need them.

I had long since surrendered to my constant loneliness when a few years into my hiatus from men an old friend, a high school crush came to visit. It felt good to be in some one's arms I could trust. We had known each other since I was fourteen. I needed to be held, to be wanted. I needed to trust someone I felt safe with. We began to kiss, to undress each other. Then before anything could happen, as suddenly as he started, he stopped. He left me confused and hurt. After years of being alone, the first man I trusted, stopped, he sent me away. When I asked him why he stopped, why he was sending me home? What he said and what I heard were completely opposite. What he said, something felt wrong. What I heard, something was wrong with me. Now I realize he was right, something was wrong. I was using him trying to fill my void of loneliness. I hoped being with him would help me forget the past, if only for a little while. He understood, what I could not comprehend, if we had gone any further we would have lost the wonderful friendship we had developed through the years. A close friendship we still share to this day. I drove home in tears, I was convinced more than ever, men were only meant to hurt me. They were never going to make me happy. The fourth and final nail was now in my coffin of relationships with men.

Over the next eleven and a half years I would be; Mom, daughter, aunt, friend, retail manager, assistant hotel manager, decorative painter, girl scout leader, cheerleading coach, gymnastics instructor. I would wear many titles except date, girlfriend, lover. I devoted my life to my daughter, my family, my work. I took care of everyone except myself. I had numerous male friends, they were all safe. They were either married or lived far away. There was no chance of temptation, no chance of getting close, no chance of added torment, no chance of tears or heart ache. After a while I no longer realized what I was doing, it was normal to be only mom. While other women my age would go out and have fun, I stayed home, watched television. I had dismissed from my memory what it was like to have fun, to be with a man, to be wanted. I shut that part of myself off.

It would be Martin who would wake me up, bring me back to reality. Help me see what I was missing. August 1998 after 13 years Martin called. He was going to be in the area on business, asked if I would like to meet him for drinks to catch up. I was surprised by his phone call, I was even more surprised when I said yes. I searched my closet in vain to find an outfit suitable to meet him again after so many years. My closet was filled with drab, boring, don’t look at me mommy outfits. Luckily I was able to borrow an outfit from a friend. I had not been alone with a man in eleven years. Martin and I at one time were great friends, but that still did not combat the anxiety I felt. I had not spoken to him in over 13 years, what would I say? What did he want? I was terrified to meet him alone. I was afraid what I might feel, afraid I would say or do something stupid. I bribed my neighbor to accompany me on my date with Martin. I made her promise not to leave my side. Luckily she agreed.

Martin was as handsome as I remembered, even more so. Age had done him well, he looked better in his 30s then he ever did in his 20s. As I looked at him I became very aware how much I had neglected myself. I went from being a very beautiful young girl to a middle aged, overweight not so attractive woman. Martin was very open, he talked about his son, his divorce, his job. He asked me if I had ever married. I answered no. I could tell by his face he was surprised. I explained I never met the right man. I went on to explain I actually meet no men. I had not been on a date in years. Puzzled Martin asked the obvious question, why not? Why wasn't I meeting men? What was stopping me? When I answered, “I was busy being a mom”. Martin stated very matter of fact, that was an excuse not an answer. You can be a mom and date. Martin was correct, I had to accept it. For years I had been making excuses, trying to rationalize why I didn't need men. As Martin and I continued our conversation, I learned he was going to be back in October for the USNA Class of 1983 fifteen year reunion. When I heard he was coming back, in my mind, I made a pledge to be a different person by October. A better person, the old me.

Martin’s visit changed me. Seeing him made me realize I wanted my former self back. The witty, fun, good looking, flirtatious me. I began to take care of myself. Every morning after sending my daughter off to school I would run laps around the neighborhood, at first I only ran a mile, eventually I worked up to four miles a day. At night after coaching cheerleading, I would walk two miles. When I went shopping instead of buying boring cover all of me mom clothes I bought trendy more current styles. Instead of hiding my body, I found clothes that flattered my figure. By October, when the reunion rolled around, I had lost 25 pounds. Unlike the time in August, I had no trouble finding a great outfit, my closet had plenty to chose from. After the Navy football game, when I saw Martin, met his new fiancé, I didn't care. Martin woke me up, he made me realize I was hiding from the old me, the real me. For the first time in eleven years I flirted with men and they flirted back, it felt great! It would be several months before I would go out on a date and even longer until I trusted my heart to someone. But that August night in 1998, Martin saved my life without ever realizing it.

HEALING THE EVER EVOLVING CYCLE OF PAIN.
I use to believe the saying, time has a way of healing all wounds. I now know that statement to be untrue. The wounds never heal, the pain, the loss never leaves completely. For a lack of a better way to describe it, over time the 'wounds' develop scabs. For a time the scab holds, life goes on, seemingly normal. Then without reason, something rips the scab open, once again exposing the wound. Sometimes the wound exposes pain, other times anger. The common thread, the underlying root of the pain or anger, missing someone you love dearly. When you lose someone you love, there is no cure, there is no healing, there is only surviving, doing your best to move forward.

For me, when the 'wound' opened back up, on a good bad day, my eyes would only begin to tear. I would thank God I was able to quickly control my emotions, hold everything in. I was able to thwart a crying meltdown. On truly bad days, there was no stopping the tears, the pain. Nothing I could do would stop the tears from gushing down my cheeks. No matter how much I tried, the feeling of loss was too overwhelming. There was no controlling the emptiness I suddenly felt. When that happened I would retreat to somewhere private where no one could see my tears, witness my pain.

There were other times when for some unknown reason I felt anger. Unexplained rage would come rushing out of me. The anger was a fury that had been growing inside of me, a hurricane of emotions that has been building strength slowly over the warm waters of the ocean inside me. I had no clue why I was angry, I just was. I was angry at Bobby for dying. I was furious at myself for still missing him. I was angry at life for leaving me alone. I was angry I had no answers for the many questions that filled my head. Dreams never realized left me pained. I learned quickly anger was always followed by tears. The anger only masked the pain that was still left in my heart. Anger was simply another symptom of sorrow.

My hope, my only salvation, was learning how to recognize and deal with the cycle of pain, recovery, healing then normal life. Learning, understanding the cycle was all part of life. My constant prayer after every meltdown, that normal life would return and stay longer. I prayed for a so called remission from the cycle I found myself trapped in. I would pray the duration between meltdowns, would last longer. I eventually learned, the more time passes, the longer remission lasts. The longer life seems to return to normal. Over time my tears were eventually replaced by smiles of remembrance. In time I no longer cried over losing Bobby. I thanked God for what little time I had with him. Now I smile and laugh when I remember Bobby.

TEARS AND ANGER
Sometimes I knew what would cause my pain, my tears. It maybe hard to understand but there were days when I needed to cry. I needed to release all my emotions. I needed for a time to become numb in order to feel normal again. July 11, 1987, my twenty fourth birthday, I sent flowers to Bobby, Gerber daisies. The same flowers he had sent me for my twenty first birthday, I sent to his grave. I tried to celebrate my birthday, I was unsuccessful. I missed him too much. Losing Bobby was still too fresh. I cried myself to sleep reading the card he had sent me three years before. I spent the night wishing I was twenty one again, wishing I had one more chance to fix all my mistakes. Wishing, hoping, begging, praying to see Bobby one more time, tell him I was sorry, I missed him.

A few years after Bobby died, I was driving when I first heard the Garth Brooks song, "The Dance". As the music flowed through my speakers, the lyrics said everything I had been feeling, "I would have loved to miss the pain, but I'd of had to miss the dance." As I heard those words I began to cry. I could see, feel our "dance" in Pensacola. I needed to hear the song again. On the way home, I took a detour to the store, bought the album. That night and many nights through out the years I would listen to "The Dance" over and over until I could no longer cry. Drifting off to sleep dreaming of our “dance”. Even after 23 years I never know how I will react when I hear "The Dance". There are times without explanation , without reason, the song brings tears to my eyes. Other times as I listen to the familiar lyrics I smile remembering what a wonderful ‘dance’ Bobby and I shared.

Life would be easy if I could predict when reminders, the triggers of tears would happen. If life is only one thing, it is unpredictable. Random times, arbitrary places, unforeseen reminders all with the same common denominator, Bobby, would reduce me to tears. There was never a definition to explain why, it just was.

Fall of 1987, after much begging and pleading by my friends, I ventured out to a local dance club, Margarita Maggie's. True to form, I spent most of the night sitting at the bar drinking ginger ale. Last call was announced, I was waiting for my friends to finish dancing so I could say good night and head home. The DJ announced he was slowing the music down for the final two songs, the guy sitting next to me asked me to dance. I had turned him down several times previously. He said to me, "If I did not dance with him, it would bruise his already fragile ego."
Feeling guilty I agreed to dance with him. As the first slow song played I learned he was from Pennsylvania, had graduated from the Naval Academy in May. He was working temporary duty at the Naval Academy waiting for his slot in Pensacola. As he told me his life story, I could hear Bobby's voice saying, “Don't be falling for any of those Navy guys still hanging around Annapolis.”
The final chords of the first song ended, my heart stopped when I heard the familiar chords of the next song begin, "Waiting for a Girl Like You". I closed my eyes trying to compose myself, take a deep breath. When I closed my eyes, I saw Bobby's hand as he put it out for me take when he asked me to dance for the first time in Pensacola. For a moment I felt extremely lost. I became very aware tears were streaming down my cheeks. I apologized to the guy, I explained I could not dance with anyone to that song. I left one very confused Ensign on the dance floor. I grabbed my purse, without saying good bye I ran to my car. I cried as I fell asleep later. Even now, when I hear, “Waiting for a Girl Like You” if I close my eyes I can still see Bobby as we dance. Some days tears will flow from my eyes as I hear the song. Other days I smile remembering our first dance. Mostly I close my eyes so I can see him once again, remember his eyes as they looked into mine before our first kiss. I know I will never be able to dance with anyone to that song. To me, "Waiting for a Girl Like You" is our song.

A year later it would be a newscast that would cause me to fall to the floor in a wave of emotion, a flood of tears. I treasured the photograph Bobby gave me. I placed it in a beautiful burnt silver frame next to my bed on my nightstand. I was sitting in bed, watching the Sunday night late local news. During the extended sports section, they began to show footage from the Army-Navy lacrosse game. Navy had come from behind to win. As I watched the highlights of the game, a rage, anger overcame me. Without explanation, I picked up Bobby’s photo, hurled it across the room screaming, "Damn you Bobby, you were suppose to come home. Why the hell did you fly so low? Damn you!" I heard the glass break as it hit the wall next to my closet. I pulled my knees to my chest and began pounding my bed with my fists on each side of my body next to my feet. With every blow to the mattress I yelled, “Damn you! Damn you! Damn You!”
With every pounding, with every damn you, all the anger towards Bobby I had built up over the year came exploding out. I was furious with him for flying low, for crashing. I was even angrier at myself for caring so deeply, missing him too much. After several minutes of yelling and pounding, I took a deep breath, calmed myself down. I grabbed my trash can and headed over to pick up the broken pieces of the frame. The sight of Bobby, his photo, laying amidst the broken glass dropped me to my knees in grief. I began to cry as I picked up the broken pieces of glass. With each piece of glass I asked Bobby why? All I wanted to know was why? Why did he die? Why was he flying so low? Why did he take a different path back to the base? All I have ever wanted to know is why?

It is amazing how even after years of peace, an extended 'remission', Bobby will surface and once again without explanation I will cry. Sometimes I cry for only a few seconds, other times much longer.

I was driving home one night when I heard an old Bruce Springsteen song play on the radio,"Cover Me". As I listened to the song I smiled thinking of Bobby. It was hard for me to believe Bobby had been gone over 10 years. While waiting at a red light I closed my eyes to ‘see’ Bobby, as I listened to 'The Boss', but he wasn't there. I lost him, I felt him, but my mind forgot what he looked like. I panicked, I had promised Bobby I would never forget him, yet at that stop light I couldn't remember his face, I couldn’t see him at all. I felt like I had betrayed him. My eyes began to water. I had to pull over to the side of the road to compose myself.

After dinner, I went to my room, closed the door, grabbed my Foreigner cd. I turned off the lights, pushed play, then laid in bed. As the familiar cords began to play of ‘our song’, I took a deep breath, closed my eyes. At first I could only see his hand as he placed it out for me to take. Then as the chorus began to echo in my room, I could feel him, then slowly I saw his smile, I saw his eyes, I saw his face. I cried tears of joy and thanked God for letting me see Bobby once again. I thanked him for helping me keep my promise to Bobby to always remember him.

September 11th, I was watching live when the second plane hit the tower. I witnessed as the towers collaspe to the ground. Like everyone else in America, around the world, I watched the coverage non-stop. That night and randomly for the next several weeks following the attack, I began having nightmares. Nightmares I had never had before. As I slept I would see Bobby's helicopter crash. I would be standing on the bank of the Bucao River and see the wire. I would try to tell Bobby to stop, pull up. Over and over I would yell at him to stop, he never hears me. I watch in horror as his helicopter hits the wire, he crashes into the river bank. I would wake up sweating, my heart pounding, out of breath and in tears. The panic I felt was real, it left me paralyzed with fear. I would stay awake the rest of the night, afraid the nightmare would return if I fell back to sleep. As soon as the nightmares began they ended.

A month ago a friend recommended the movie, "Taking Chance". I thought it would be the perfect movie to watch on Memorial day. I was not ready for how the movie would make me feel. I cried as I watched the scenes where they depicted Chance being prepared to fly home from Iraq. They showed how the vacuum sucks the air out of the body bag. You see them place his body bag in a metal coffin, then pack it with ice, surrounding his body. You watch as the coffin is sealed, then draped in an American Flag. As they portrayed his casket being loaded on the plane I had to turn the movie off, I couldn’t watch anymore. It was too real.

Before watching the opening scenes of "Taking Chance", I never thought about how Bobby came home. Until then, Bobby died, he came home, there was a funeral. I never thought about what happened to him from the time he was killed, until 10 days later when he was buried. "Taking Chance" was a stark reality of what happened to Bobby. As I watched the movie my brain began to comprehend that was how Bobby was brought home. It was no longer Chance in the movie, it was Bobby. The realization that Bobby didn't fly home first class, no one was there to give him a hug, say welcome home. Bobby came home, zipped in a body bag surrounded by ice. He was placed in the back of a plane with an American flag draped over his coffin. He flew a long lonely flight home. He was flown into Dover Air Force Base. The last time Bobby would wear his uniform, it would not be his hands buttoning his jacket, putting on his socks, tying his shoes. A complete stranger dressed him. A stranger placed his hands across his chest. A chest that no longer had a heartbeat. A heartbeat I missed and long to feel one more time. When I turned the movie off, I went outside, sat down, looked up at the stars. Through my tears I told Bobby I was so sorry. I told him I still missed him. I was outside talking to Bobby for awhile before the tears stopped and I could come back inside, resume watching the movie.

Long ago I made a promise to myself, no more tears when I remembered Bobby, only smiles, only laughter. I could spend my life crying over what might have been or spend my life smiling, laughing over what had been. Watching, “Taking Chance” when I was reduced to tears, I was angry at myself for breaking my own promise. After scolding myself for several minutes, I reminded myself I was fortunate, I was blessed, for a short amount of time I knew Bobby. He could have picked any girl he wanted that night at the club, he chose me. Our two bodies came together for one amazing night over spring break. I was lucky enough to feel his touch, to know his kiss, have him hold me in his arms. That incredible night I discovered every inch of him as he uncovered ever inch of me. He taught me to let go, to trust again. I was able to hold his hand as the sunlight appeared over the gulf. I found a man who left me speechless, gave me goose bumps and took my breath away time and time again. For a brief moment in time, life was perfect. I discovered a side of Bobby very few people saw, knew. I did not know the son, the brother, the midshipmen, the lacrosse player, or the pilot. I knew the compassionate Bobby. The man with the gentle touch, the sweetest kiss. The man who wiped away my tears. The man who tried to let me know there was nothing to be afraid of. The man who kept his promises. I knew the man who wrapped his arms and legs around me trying to comfort me when I was hurting. He cared when I cried, tried to ease my pain. He could have walked away at any time, many men would have, yet he stayed, making sure I was okay. He had a kind huge heart. Those memories, those blessings deserve only smiles, no tears.

Promise or not, I admit I have cried quite a number of tears writing this blog. As much as I tried, it was impossible to hold back the tide of emotions as I remembered our time together. Writing about the day I learned Bobby died was the hardest. I discovered the pain is as fresh, powerful today as it was twenty three years ago. I was reminded once again how strong my feelings were for Bobby. How lost I felt when he died. I realized how much even today I still miss Bobby. I was reminded how much his family and friends have lost. When I feared I was going to be lost in tears, I tried to remind myself how lucky I was to know him. Sometimes that sentiment was enough to stop the tears, others times it was never enough to fill the void. I would have to walk away from my computer, let the tears run their course, then resume writing.

Regrets
Regrets are exhausting, they can torture a soul. They can drive a sane person crazy searching for the what ifs to all the unanswered questions. Regrets or not, nothing will ever be able to answer the possibility of what might have been. After reading our story most people would assume I am filled with regrets. How does one wish to change the past with the knowledge if any one aspect was changed you would not be where you are today? There is not a moment or a day that passes when I do not wish Bobby was still here. There are things I wish I could change and others I would not.

March 25, 1987, when I sat on the dock in Annapolis crying over losing Bobby, praying for a miracle, asking God to turn back time so I could open my eyes, be back in 1984. Redo the night at Mum's. I pleaded, I begged, tried to bargain so I could spend one more night with Bobby. In my grief I would have done anything to be given the chance to correct my mistake. Tell my fears, my insecurities, my friends, tell all of them to go away, let me be with Bobby. Trust him, let go, spend the night with him, discover where “it” might have lead. Now I understand if anything had been different, if I had left with Bobby that night I would have never had my daughter. She is the greatest gift I have been given. She is the one thing I have done right. She is my pride, my joy, the love of my life. I would not change her, change anything that put me on the road to having her. I never regret having her, keeping her. There are other things I wish I could change, regrets I do have.

I regret I didn't pay more attention at the Navy Maryland lacrosse game in 1983. I wish I had watched Bobby play instead of socializing with friends. Bobby loved lacrosse, loved his teammates. From what I have learned from everyone who knew him, who played with him, he was an amazing player. I never had the chance to really enjoy watching him play. There have been times I have found myself searching You Tube hoping someone uploaded some old Navy lacrosse footage. Praying I could see him play. Watch him play in the game he loved, even if it is only for a few minutes. In Pensacola as we sat on the deck talking, I could see the pride in his eyes as he told me about his senior year in high school he set some kind of scoring record in New Jersey. I often wonder if his record still stands. Bobby loved playing lacrosse with his brothers. Knowing how happy he was to have the ball passed to him from his brother, heaven would be to see him play with them. Passing the ball between the Bianchis. Lacrosse was such a huge part of him, I would give anything to see Bobby play the game he loved so much.

The fall of 1985 when I found myself at Kevin’s party instead of avoiding Kevin out of fear of what he must have thought of me, I wish I had the strength to walk up to Kevin and ask him about Bobby. When Kevin said he was going to tell Bobby I still looked hot, I regret not asking him to tell Bobby I was sorry for being stupid, to please have him call me. I ran into Kevin several times that fall, each time he greeted me with a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. He was always so sweet, yet I was never strong enough to admit to Kevin how much I really missed his brother, how much I often thought of Bobby. I kept everything inside, afraid to share. Fearful Kevin would think I was crazy for still being so hung up on his brother. To the outside world, to Kevin, I looked as if I was getting on with my life, moving forward. When I was still very much head over heels crazy in love with the man whose mere presence drove me crazy. His brother Bobby.

After throwing Bobby’s photo, smashing it against the wall I hate myself for not replacing the glass. I picked up the broken pieces, placed his photo back on my nightstand where it had been. Several years later when my munchkin and her friends were having a Friday night slumber party in my room, his photo was ruined. In the course of the girls fun, jumping on my bed, they spilled their sodas sitting on my nightstand. Knocking over Bobby's photo over in the process. Not wanting to get in trouble for being overly goofy, afraid of being sent home, they attempted to clean up the spill. They stood his photo back up, still drenched in orange and grape soda hoping it would dry overnight. The next afternoon when I discovered what had happened it was too late, Bobby’s photo was ruined. The only remaining image I have left of Bobby is in my head. I fear with age one day that too will be lost.

February 1987, Short Hills, New Jersey, when I had the feeling someone was staring at me, I regret not turning around to see who it was. I was so close to Maplewood, Bobby’s hometown. I have often wondered if it might have been him. My brain realizes Bobby was thousands of miles away in Guam, but my heart wishes I would have turned around to find him standing there, smiling at me. I would have run up to Bobby, given him a huge hug. I would have told him I missed him. I lost track of the number of times I have longed for one more hug. To have his arms around me one more time, to feel his heartbeat next to mine if only for a minute, I can’t describe how happy that would have made me. I have often wondered if one more hug would have made a difference? If it would have been enough. Would one more hug made it easier to lose him? Bobby gave great hugs. When he held me near, when his arms were wrapped around me, everything around me was lost. All I felt and heard was Bobby. The world was still, quiet.

My biggest regret was telling Bobby I had to go when he called. If I had known it was going to be the last time I would talk to him, the last time I would hear his voice I would have never hung up. I would have talked till dawn. Experience the sunrise with him one more time. I never really got to know Bobby. I would have asked him a million silly questions, the answers that one learns about another over time. What was his favorite color? Did he have pets growing up? I would have asked what the stupidest thing he ever did? How did he get the nickname B-foul? I knew he hurt his knee in football, but what game, how? I would have given him more grief quoting Bruce Springsteen to a Maryland girl! I would have asked what his parents were like? How did his mom handle four boys? Was it strange having his youngest brother going to Rutgers (I believe) and not the Academy? He said he played football, I would have asked what position? What was he like in high school? What was his shoe size? Who broke his heart the first time? Did he always wear the number 7 jersey when he played lacrosse? If I had known it was the last time we were going to talk I would have told him thank you for the best night of my life. I would have let him know, till the day I die I will never forget or regret our night together. Bobby knew he gave me goose bumps. In Pensacola as we made love he noticed I was covered in goose bumps and asked if I was cold. I told him no, he gave them to me all the time. I remember how he paused, looked in my eyes trying to read if what I had said was true. After a few moments, he kissed me passionately, then whispered in my ear, “me too”. I wish as I was talking to him on the phone I had the courage to tell him how I felt. If given the chance all over, I would have told Bobby, call me crazy but I think from the first time I saw you I fell in love with you. It may have caused him to run in fear but at least he would have known. I regret not telling Bobby how amazing he was.

A regret I have for Bobby. I wish he had children. I am so sad there are no little Bobby Bianchis running around. No trace of him is left. His blood, his genes ended when he died. He would have been a great dad. He was so laid back, had such a huge heart, nothing would have frustrated him. He would be the Dad surrounded by all the kids wanting to play. He would have had the perfect balance of discipline and freedom. He would be the Dad instead of saying talk to you mother, he would wipe the tears from his daughter's eyes when a guy broke her heart. He would have told her it would be okay. She would know it was true because her Dad told her. He would never let his kids down. He would teach them the value of keeping a promise. He would have been a great coach to his kids. When I walk around Annapolis, see the midshipmen wearing name tags that read class of 2012 etc. I find myself thinking if Bobby had a child, they would be here by now. There would be another Bianchi playing Academy lacrosse.

Bobby
I suspect Bobby meant more to me, than I did to him but I am not sure. I never had the courage to ask him how he felt. Not many girls, if any, said no to Bobby, I did. That made me a novelty. From the start Bobby made it clear he wanted to know where "we" would end up. He wanted another night, another chance to be with me. Another opportunity to see if it was our chemistry or the magic of spring break. I know in my heart he was interested in me, why else would he write, call? When he looked in my eyes I could tell he liked me, I could feel it. When I talked to him the last time, I also felt he was conflicted. I am not sure why. Was he worried what the guys would think? Was he worried he would hurt me? Was he worried what his family would think? After all I had a child. I will never have the answers. I only wish when I sensed something was troubling him, I would have asked what was wrong. Maybe I would have been able to help him find the answers.

From the first time I saw Bobby, my heart told me there was something there that was unexplainable. A feeling that made me frantic, happy, anxious, and scared. The times we were together in person or on the phone, when I relaxed, when it was only the two of us, I felt complete. He had a reputation as a ladies man, a charmer, a womanizer. Bobby may have been, but with me he was not. He had so many opportunities to walk away, forget me, yet he didn't. When I was hurt, when I cried, he stayed, he wiped away my tears, held me until the tears stopped. He wanted to make sure I was okay. Bobby was an amazing, genuine, sweet man. He was talented, athletic and extremely handsome. He was the perfect catch or as he wrote, the much better catch than any other man out there. Some people may laugh, doubt me, think I am crazy, but I understand now, in Coronado when I first met Bobby, for me, it was love at first sight. Extremely scary when you are supposedly in love and dating another man. Bobby turned my world upside down and at the time I did not understand it. I believe Bobby knew and understood why I was scared, why I was confused. Time and time again he would ask what I was afraid of, tell me to relax. He tried to assure me I would be fine, we would be fine. He understood, time held all the answers. I needed to trust him, trust what I was feeling instead of being afraid. Now I understand what I was feeling, how he was trying to help. He said on more than one occasion, "he knew". Now I understand what he knew, what I felt.

Bobby is still with me, he always will be. He is not as constant as he once was when he first died. Bobby sleeps silently in my heart, laying dormant for a while. At times he will come back to life, stay with me for a while. There are days and nights when I swear I can sense him. I can still feel him pull on my heart. I feel Bobby most when I am at the beach. At night when I am alone, when everyone is fast asleep, I sit on the deck gazing at the stars, the moon. I sit waiting for the sunlight to slowly appear over the ocean. I prop my feet up on the railing, close my eyes, feel the ocean breeze wrap around me. In the still of the night I swear I can feel him sitting next to me, smiling at me with his crazy grin and gorgeous eyes. At times it feels like Bobby is still here, like he has never left. I know he is not really with me, it is wishful thinking. There is no explaining what I feel, how strong it can be at times. Delusion or not, when it feels like Bobby is with me, I am happy. Whatever it is, always makes me smile.

My biggest fear since Bobby had no children in time he will be forgotten. He will become a name only, no longer real. No longer the amazing man he was. People will lose sight of the wonderful person he was. I hope by writing this blog, everyone will come to know Bobby, to see him as I did.

Bobby, Robert T. Bianchi, was a wonderful, good man with a gentile caring soul. He may have passed on but his character, his essence will live on as long as people remember him. He gave so much to me, I hope this blog in some small way is a gift to him. That others who knew him, are inspired to write, tell their/his story.

Maybe these blogs will become a kind of legacy where Bobby will always be remembered and loved.

Laughter, smile, tears, pain, heart ache, I would do it all over again, in a heartbeat, without a second thought. Bobby was worth every tear, every heart ache.

Lt. Robert Thomas Bianchi...Bobby, you are larger than life, you are the perfect catch. You are one hell of a man. I am the luckiest woman on earth having known you.

I miss you dearly!!

Bobby Part 7- The blended haze

Even after all these years, I can’t explain exactly why I felt the way I did after hanging up with Bobby. I was happy, I was calm, I was no longer anxious, worried or confused. I finally understood, accepted, what I had been feeling for the past three years. When I first heard Bobby's voice I was once again covered in goose bumps. I would feel them several times during our conversation. Just as he had done in the past, several times what he said made me lose my breath. I was no longer scared of him hurting me or afraid of the way he made me feel. I was finally ready to embrace the crazy intense array of emotions I felt when I was with him.

I accepted for now, Bobby had his path to take, I had mine. Even on our different paths, after our phone call I knew in my heart eventually we would be together once again. Time would tell if it would be for a week or a lifetime. I was going to relax and trust what I was feeling. After the phone call, every day when I saw his postcard taped to my mirror I smiled. No more questions, pleadings to God. No more wondering where he was, what he was doing or what he was feeling? His phone call let me know there was still hope. He said he wanted to see me again. He thought about me, he called me. Now I had to keep my promise, let him have his fun, relax and follow his lead. When he was ready he would let me know. He would tell me what he wanted from me. Until then, I had work, I had my friends and I had my munchkin. Life was good once again. I was looking forward to our future whatever it would be.

The next day at work, I grabbed my message pad and wrote Bobby called last night, pinned the message to Cheryl’s bulletin board. A few hours later when Cheryl arrived at work, I saw her head into our office/stockroom. I don’t think she even had to time to hang up her coat, before she came running out to find me. She was ecstatic and upset. I should have called her immediately after Bobby called. According to Cheryl this was epic, the phone call was huge. This was great, she announced we had to go card shopping to pick out his next card. I told Cheryl no, we wait, I wait. I could tell she was confused. As I helped Cheryl put her stock out that afternoon I apprised her on our phone call. As I relayed all the details, I was happy. I was smiling non-stop. She questioned very loudly, "What?" when I informed her I told Bobby to go have fun, if he still wanted me I would be here waiting.
"Are you nuts. You don't tell a gorgeous guy to go have fun with other women" She reminded me I told him that once before and I didn't hear from him for months. I tried to explain, it was the only thing that made sense. He was thousands of miles away, I was here. Honestly I hardly knew him. If you added it up all the time we have spent together or talked it would only total two maybe three days! If I asked him to wait for me, he would think I was crazy. I would think I was nuts. For once in my life I was doing the right thing, I wasn’t worried. I went on to explain, I kept thinking about what my Grandpa had told me when I was younger. When he first saw my Grandma he knew she was the one for him. It was love at first sight, his heart told him. It took him awhile to convince Grandma he was the one for her. Grandpa told me sometimes you have to be patient when it comes to love. If it is meant to be, it will eventually be. I was going to patient, I was going to wait for eventually. While I waited I was going to have fun. I was going to grow up, work on my insecurities. I was going to work on becoming a better person, a stronger person.

That afternoon when ever Cheryl had the chance, she nagged me, “Don’t be foolish, write him, send him a photo.” My answer was always the same, “NO, I promised I would follow his lead”. Occasionally I would insert, "He is busy, he made flight commander. He is loving life, flying high, I am waiting. Give it up, PLEASE!"

When I fell asleep that night, I was back in Pensacola. Bobby and I were sitting on the deck, our feet propped up on the railing. We were waiting for the sun light to appear over the gulf. Bobby was telling me about his days playing high school and Navy lacrosse. I could tell how much he loved the game. He was excited to be in flight school yet part of him still missed those days. After he finished one story, I looked over at him, trying to be amusing, I asked him, “So are you one of those larger than life, not many players better than you are guys?” Without hesitation, a devilish grin came over his face as he answered, “You could say that.”
"Oh I could?" I asked very sarcastically.
He looked at me amazed I was questioning him, "Yes definitely"
“So what was your number?”
“Seven”
“Seven, of course it is. That's my lucky number”
He smiled and gave me this amazing look, “Yes, you definitely got lucky tonight”
As he spoke, all I could think was damn he is so freaking handsome. I leaned over smacked him across his arm, I scolded, “Yes I did, and so did you mister!!”

That was part of my attraction to him. Bobby was so self assured, he knew what he wanted and was not afraid to go after it. No was not the end, it was simply an obstacle he had to overcome. He played hard, he played to win. I don’t think anything or anyone intimidated him. He seemed to keep moving forward with no fear. Some people might call him arrogant, I understood he knew who he was, and was not afraid to show it. He loved life and was going to take everything it had to offer, head on with no regrets.

I never understood why Bobby was attracted to me, I was his complete opposite. Yes there was the crazy physical attraction we shared. Deep inside I had a feeling there was more there, another attraction. He knew exactly who he was, what he wanted to do with his life. I was lost. I had no clue which direction to turn, where my life was heading. I was still trying to discover who I was. I was so insecure in my looks, in my personality. I had been in the shadows of so many for so long I was afraid to come out and shine on my own. At times I was definitely afraid to take life head on. I believe Bobby recognized that, he tried to understand my fears. He tried to get me let go of them, to open up and talk about them. That night in Mum's when he lowered his head so his eyes could meet mine, he asked me what I was afraid of? He reassured me everything was going to be fine. I needed to relax and trust him. In his own way, he was trying to get me to see there is nothing to be afraid in life, enjoy what you have, who you are with. At Mum's, I couldn’t let go of my fears, trust what I was feeling. I wasn’t ready to make that leap of faith. Now three years later, I was finally able to “hear” him, I understood. I was ready to relax and stop being afraid of him. I was no longer going to be afraid to feel. I was finally ready for where Bobby might take me.

I didn’t tell Cheryl but a few days later I sent Bobby a birthday card. I kept it short and simple. I wrote "I am sorry I almost forgot your birthday. I promise I will make it up to you later."

I admit when I did not hear from him right away, I started to worry. I debated whether or not I should write. My brother-in-law also graduated from the Naval Academy. I knew from his cruise days, as his sister-in-law I was lucky if I got a letter from him once a month. I was low on his totem pole. I knew with Bobby, there were people higher on the list of letter requirements than I. He was busy, I had to avoid the temptation, I did not want to become the frantic crazy chick in Maryland.

Saturday, March 21st, a bunch of us who had worked closing at Macy’s headed to Ruby Tuesdays to have a drink before heading home. When Roger made a toast to the first day of spring, a group debate started. Was the first day of spring the 20th or the 21st of March? I found myself sitting at the bar, lost in the distance, not sure what I was thinking. I had this strange/bad sensation come over me. I feeling of apprehension, like something bad was looming. Cheryl noticed me staring at nothing and asked what was wrong. I told her I have no clue, I had a bad feeling. She asked me how so, I couldn't explain it. I tried to shake it off and join in on the banter but I couldn't. As I sat there I began to worry something might be wrong with my munchkin. I snuck out of the bar to call home. Mom assured me she was fine, fast asleep, she was heading to bed soon. She told me to have fun she would see me later.

Sunday March 22, one day I will be able to write about Sunday but for now, I am not ready.

Monday March 23, when I returned to work Cheryl asked how I was doing. I told her it was weird I still had that feeling, I couldn't sleep. I woke up crying in the middle of the night and didn't know why. The feeling wouldn't leave me, something was wrong and I didn't know what. I thought I was paranoid. To change the subject, I informed her she would be happy to know when I woke up in the middle of the night and could not fall back asleep I began writing a letter to Bobby. I was going to finish the letter later. She could even help me select the photo I would insert in the letter before mailing it to Bobby. Cheryl was excited, walking out of our office she yelled back at me, "It's about damn time!"

What I am about to write, some parts are vivid like it just happened yesterday, other memories are trapped in a haze. Both blend together creating one very long painful memory.

Wednesday my phone rang it was Cathleen. She asked if there was anyone with me. I told her no, I had taken the Munchkin to the babysitters earlier. Mom was picking her up after work. I was getting ready for work. I could tell by her voice something was wrong. I asked if she was okay? Was Mark (her husband) okay?
Through her tears she said, “Dinker I am so sorry I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else or read it in the newspaper. Bobby is dead.”

It took a second for my brain to register what she had just said to me. As the words sunk in, I felt tears begin to roll down my cheeks, something sucked all the air out of me, all the life out of me. I could not breathe. I dropped to the floor, landed sitting Indian style with my back against my bed. My hands began to tremble as I held the phone. I took a deep breath, trying to be calm, I pleaded,
“NO, don’t tell me that. It’s not true. Please no, it can’t be true. Not Bobby.”
“I’m sorry D. Everyone is torn up down here. Mark heard after they told Kevin. Kevin is a mess. I’m so sorry D."
All I could say through my tears, "No not Bobby, please"
Cathleen was crying as well, "Are you going to be okay? Do you need me to come home?”
“I don't know. What happened?”
“I’m not sure, all I know is his helicopter crashed Monday. Everyone on board was killed.”
I couldn’t speak, I didn’t know what to say. my brain was trying to comprehend everything while my heart was trying to reject it all. It couldn't be true. She had to be wrong. Bobby said he would be safe, he would call again, I would see him when he got home from his Det.

For a few minutes no one spoke. Cathleen broke the silence, “Are you going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. I got to go. I just got to go. Call me later, please.” I begged.
“I will. I love you D”

I couldn’t say good bye, answer I love you too. I could not process what I was suppose to say when someone says goodbye. I hung up the phone. I sat there staring at the floor for a few minutes.

I not sure why, I got up starting walking, pacing circles around the house not sure which direction to go, what to do. I looked at the clock calculated what time it was in Guam. I couldn’t call Leigh it was too late. I tried to convince myself Cathleen was wrong, Bobby was just hurt. I whispered to myself over and over, "He's coming home, he promised me." I was the one who broke promises, he never did. He said he would always be there for me.

I sat down for a second on the kitchen floor to catch my breath, wipe the tears from my eyes. I needed to think. I stood up, announced to the empty house, "I got to go to work. I got to work. We have a sale on Saturday. I have to get ready."
Over and over I repeated to myself I had to go to work.

I don’t remember getting dressed, I don’t recall the drive. After standing up in the kitchen, the next thing I remember is entering Macy's through security. As I walked into my department Cheryl looked at me and asked if I was okay. I put my hand up like I had done three years before to Bobby in Pensacola. I didn't answer. I shook my head no then yes and walked back to our office. I sat down for a moment, gathering strength to go on. I noticed the racks of clothing waiting to be put on the floor. Very methodically, mechanically I began to place the new merchandise on the floor. All the managers had received their list of markdowns for the weekend. Everyone was busy shifting their displays and racks preparing for the pre-sale. I stood in my department with my list of mark downs in my hands. I stared at it, my brain was not comprehending the codes, nothing was making sense. Everything seemed to spin in confusion. I stood there staring, concentrating on breathing. It was all I could think about. I just had to breathe that's it.

A woman interrupted my blankness, asked if I could put some clothes in the dressing room for her. I said of course. As she handed me her items she asked if everything was okay. I had no color. She had never seen anyone as pale. I gave a fake smile and told her I was simply tired. As I walked to the dressing room, my eyes caught a glimpse of a girl wearing a Naval Academy sweat shirt. All I could do was stare at her, at the sweatshirt. She was smiling, she was happy. Why was she so happy?

Akin to when a damn bursts, the water rushes to the valley below drowning everything in it’s path. The water leaves nothing standing. When I saw the girl in the sweatshirt, suddenly without explanation I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning in loss, drowning in pain, suffocating in emptiness. The damn in my heart that had been trying to hold every feeling of despair, broke and every emotion came rushing out. As I entered the dressing room I handed the woman’s items to one of the women from the dress department. I asked her to please handle this and I ran to the back corner, the back stall of the dressing room. I shut the door and crumpled to the floor. My body was shaking as I pulled my knees to my chest. I put both hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t scream. Tears came flooding down my face as I began to rock back and forth, saying over and over, “No please no. Oh God Bobby no.” I couldn’t breathe, I thought I was going to pass out. I needed, I wanted to breathe. I tried to stop crying but I couldn't. All I could do was rock back and forth, keep saying "no". I couldn’t think, I couldn't control anything. Everything was rushing out of me and I could not stop it.

A few minutes later Cheryl came rushing into the dressing room. The woman from the dress department went searching for her. When she opened the door to the dressing room, I couldn't say anything. I could only look at her, shaking as I rocked back and forth. She immediately sat down, put her arms around me, pulled me in close and asked what was wrong. It took me a few minutes before I could barely utter the words, “Bobby's dead!”
Hearing my own voice say those words, combine the two, Bobby and dead, hurt more than I can describe. It cut me deeply. Cheryl began to cry with me, she repeated several times, she was so sorry. I tried to speak but my thoughts were jumbled, nothing made sense. I didn’t know what to do.

Bobby couldn't be dead, this was not the future I envisioned when I dreamed of him. I dreamed of nights at the beach, watching him play lacrosse, falling asleep looking at his face. I dreamed of waking up next to him one day. This was not right, this was not what I felt. This all had to be wrong.

I began to calm down, through my tears I cried to Cheryl, “ You were right, I should have written him. He didn’t write. Why didn't he write? He was suppose to lead that was the plan. I don’t know what to do now.”

Cheryl tried to console me, she acknowledged that yes maybe he didn’t write but Bobby did call, that had to mean something. I was lucky I got to talk to him one more time. He said he wanted to see me again, I had to always remember that. At least I knew he wanted to see me again.

I am not sure how long we sat back in the dressing room. For the longest time I leaned against the wall not saying a word, with tears streaming down my face. Like a true friend, Cheryl stayed with me the entire time. I finally broke the silence and told Cheryl I had to get up or I would never be able to move again. I had cried so much, for a moment I thought I was going to pass out as I stood up. I was overcome with the realization that once again, I felt lost, I felt empty. This time the hurt was so deep I felt like I was standing in a void.

When I walked out of the dressing room I discovered that Kristen and Roger were flipping my department getting it ready for the pre-sale. I smiled and said thank you. I went back to my office, while Cheryl went to get something for me to eat. I crossed my arms on my desk, laid my head down. With tear stained eyes, I fell asleep. For a while I was back at the condo in Pensacola, I was in the shower kissing Bobby as the water washed over both of us. His smile was so clear as he moved my wet hair away from my face. I could hear us both laughing. His hands were so gentle as he washed my hair. In my dream life was the way it was suppose to be. The way I has always imagined it would be in the future.

I woke up to find a large coke and a slice of cold pizza sitting next to me on my desk. For a minute as I looked at my dinner, I was confused, I was caught in a haze between reality and a dream. Unfortunately reality has a way of ruining the most wonderful of memories, the best dreams. I felt so drained. I reached for the coke, took a sip, then tried to eat the pizza. I was only able to take a few bites before I began to get sick. As I continued to throw up, once again I felt like I was suffocating. The tidal wave of emotions were coming full force again. If I didn't get out of there, I would drown once again. I didn’t know where I wanted to go, I had to leave. I needed fresh air. I needed to move, if I didn’t I thought I would cease to exist. I grabbed my coat, as I was leaving I asked Cheryl if she could cover for me, I was sorry but I had to go. She replied yes then yelled after me if I needed anything to call her anytime.

I sat in my car for several minutes, drying my eyes, trying to clear my brain, so I could drive. It was misty out, for a second I couldn’t remember where my wiper switch was. The last thing I probably should have been doing that night was driving. I didn't understand that, I thought all I needed was to get out. If I kept moving I would not remember, I would not feel. I left the mall parking lot, turned onto route 2. I found myself driving past my exit and heading toward Annapolis. While I was driving, my brain was trying to process everything. As I drove down the hill on route 2 approaching the Old Severn River Bridge I saw the Naval Academy across the water. The lights from Bancroft Hall were shining like at beacon in the darkness calling. I pulled off to the side of the road, staring at the lights, wondering what wing 24th company was in? What halls did Bobby walk over and over while he was at the Academy? I had officers stickers on my car which allowed me to drive through the gate, onto the Academy grounds. I parked my car behind the Ricket's Hall. I sat for a few minutes staring at the field surrounded by the fence. The turf field where Bobby wore his number lucky number seven jersey.

It was misting/drizzling out, when I stepped out of my car. At first I didn't feel it, I didn't notice. I began walking towards downtown. I wanted to go to the last place I had seen Bobby. The last place I felt his heartbeat, felt his arms around me. I crossed over Dock Street, through the parking lot and stood on the docks staring at Mum's. I could hear his voice asking what I was afraid of. I closed my eyes, put my hand over my mouth, with tears streaming down my cheeks once again I tried to remember his eyes looking into mine as spoke to me three years before.

I sat on a bench, began rocking back and forth as I continued to cry. I closed my eyes pleading with God to let me open them and be back in 1984. I pleaded with God to please let me try again. I promised I would do it right. If given a second chance, I would not be afraid. I begged, pleaded, bargained, it didn't matter every time I opened my eyes it was still 1987, Bobby was still dead. I begged God, to let me hold Bobby one more time. All I needed was one more time.

I learned the kindness of strangers that night. As I sat there rocking back and forth with tears streaming down my face an older couple walked by. The gentleman handed me his handkerchief. Trying to comfort me he told me not to worry. I was a pretty girl if he was a smart man he would come back. I only needed to give him time. All men eventually come to their senses. I looked up at him through my tears, in desperation I softly said, “He can’t come back. I wish he could. I really wish he could.”
I heard his wife gasp, "Oh no."
I looked over, his wife began to cry. She recognized my pain. She knew why I was crying, he knew as well. He gently put his hand on my shoulder, told me he was sorry, then they walked away. A few minutes later he was back with a small blanket. He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. He promised he would say a prayer for me. He asked what his name was? I answered softly, "Bobby Bianchi."
He would say a prayer for Bobby as well. Before he left, he told me to keep the blanket on, it was cold and wet, I didn’t need to get sick. He asked if there was anyone I wanted him to call. I nodded no, then tried to force a smile when I told him thank you.

I sat there for several hours, silently crying, no longer pleading with God. I was now asking Bobby to forgive me. As I slowly rocked back and forth, all I could say over and over, "I am so sorry Bobby. I didn't know. I should have said yes. I didn't know." As I cried I kept wishing I could reverse time, change what happened. I questioned myself, why didn’t I leave with Bobby that night in Annapolis? Why was I so insecure?

After a while, I turned myself sideways, so I could curl my knees to my chest, lean my head against the back and stare at Mum’s. I closed my eyes trying to remember that night. I wanted to remember his touch, his smell, the dance, his kiss. When I had no more tears, no more energy, when I was finally numb, I got up. I am not sure why but I folded the blanket, placed it neatly on the bench. I headed back toward the Academy. As I crossed over dock street I turned around one more time, hoping like that night 3 years ago, I could see Bobby turn around, look back at me. I wiped the last of the tears from my cheeks and headed home.

Everyone was sleeping when I arrived home. I looked at the clock it was a little past three. The last time I had been awake that late was the phone call a few weeks back with Bobby. I went into my Munchkin's room, scooped her up and carried her to my room. I laid her down on the bed next to me. I didn’t want to be alone. I had no energy to change. I pulled off my boots, climbed into bed in the clothes I had worn that day.I drifted off to sleep silently crying, holding my daughter.

Thursdays were my days off at Macy’s. I awoke the next morning with a new emotion, one that would accompany me for a while, sorrow. It was an emptiness I had never felt before. In the past I thought my heart had been broken, after Bobby died I realized how much more a heart could ache. I discovered what pain really was, how it truly felt. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. I didn’t want to move. I wanted to go back to sleep, dream of happier times. I wasn't sure I could handle another day knowing Bobby was never going to be a part of my future. I would have to live without him. I felt my daughter curled up next to me. I rolled over on my side. I laid there for a few minutes brushing her hair away from her face wishing for a moment she was his, so I could have something of Bobby to hold on to.

Children, they make you go on. No matter how much you hurt, how deep the pain, they depend on you. There is no choice, you keep moving, keep doing. I had to get up. I had to take a shower, I had get my daughter up, dressed and fed. I could neglect me, but not my munchkin. As I headed to the bathroom, I glanced in the mirror, gasped at how awful I looked. At least my looks matched the way I felt. My eyelids were puffy, I had huge dark circles under my eye. I looked like I had been in a fight with Rocky and lost. I turned the water on, undressed and stepped into the shower. As soon as the water hit me, I am not sure what over came me, but I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around me, went into my room, opened the drawer, grabbed the soap on a rope. I popped off the plastic covering, held it for a moment, staring at it. I stepped back into the shower once again felt the warm water rush over me. I closed my eyes as I ran the soap down my arms, around my neck, across my chest. I tried to imagine it was Bobby's hands holding the soap, washing me. More than anything I wanted Bobby with me one more time. I had promised Bobby I was saving the soap on a rope for him. After so many broken promises, I wanted to keep that one silly promise to him. Tears overtook me, I closed my eyes and remembered our shower in Pensacola.
I sat on the floor of the tub crying. I looked up so the water would hit my face, wash away my tears. For a moment I thought I felt his hands once again wipe away my tears. When the water turned cold, I gathered what little strength I had to stand. I wiped my eyes, wrapped myself in a towel and headed to my room.

When I returned, I was amazed my Munchkin was still sleeping. After I dressed, I woke her up, changed her diaper, made her breakfast then dressed her. I put her favorite movie, 101 Dalmatians on the VCR in my room. She sat on my bed watching the movie as I searched for Leigh’s phone number. I found her number tucked away in my night stand. I took a deep breath then made my first phone call to Guam. Before that day, I was convinced the first time I would be calling overseas, would be to talk to Bobby. I wiped the tears from my eyes as the phone began to ring, Leigh answered. I tried my best to control my tears as I explained Cathleen had called me, I heard about Bobby. I needed to know what happened. “Oh D, I’m so sorry! Are you sure?”

I told Leigh I needed to know. I could tell she was upset, but she explained Bobby was flying a training mission in the Philippines. She heard he was flying too low, too fast. His helicopter hit a wire and crashed. Everyone at the base was upset. Her husband who played lacrosse with Bobby was extremely upset. Bobby was such a great guy, it was such a waste. I can't recall the rest of the conversation. I was no longer listening. My brain kept hearing the words over and over, Bobby flew too low, too fast, he hit a wire, then crashed. Those words would twist in my brain, churning for long while before they would become a cyclone of anger and grief. Eventually exploding into a fit of rage almost a year later.

I hung up the phone, sat down on my bed with my back against the headboard, pulled my daughter on my lap and tried to watch the rest of the movie with her without shedding tears. At one point, my duaghter noticed I was crying, tried to comfort me. “No Mommy not sad. Puppies fine!”
Her voice was so sweet, her statement so innocent. I wiped my tears, smiled, “Yes darling, the puppies will be fine”.

The shower and night time were my best friends, they were my mourning buddies. The two places where I could openly cry without any questions or interruptions. They were places I could be alone with my grief, alone with my pain. Where tears would never be questioned because they were never seen. They were my best friends, sleep was my devoted friend. In my dreams, Bobby was with me, life was perfect. I hated mornings. When I awoke, I was lost and alone once again. I began to question everything, what I felt, what I believed, my faith. My instincts had lied to me. They told me to relax, Bobby and I had time. I did not understand why I would feel so much for one person only to have him leave me, die. I didn't understand why God would hurt me this way. If God didn't want me to be with Bobby why did he have him call me? Why was I so drawn to Bobby? Every night when I said my prayers, I asked God to protect Bobby, to always be with him. Did God not hear my prayers? If God was with Bobby, how did he allow him to crash? I was wrong to question God, yet I had to, he was the only one who had all the answers.

I was grateful I wore contacts. Whenever my eyes would begin to tear, I would start to cry at work or where ever I might be. If questioned, I simply responded, “I am fine. I have something in my contacts." The answer seemed to suffice the curious. I was rarely hungry. When I did eat, nothing tasted right, everything made me nauseous. In a week I had lost ten pounds. Cathleen called over the weekend to check on me, make sure I was holding up okay. She informed me Bobby’s funeral was Thursday April second. Monday I called AAA to get a trip track and maps of the area. I knew how to get to Maplewood. I had seen the sign many times on my trips through New Jersey but I did not know how to get to the church. How to find the cemetery.

As the day of Bobby’s funeral approached I began to feel as if I was coming apart. I had never met his parents, I knew his brother Kevin, met his older brother once but never met his youngest. What would I say if his parents asked how I knew Bobby? The truth was insane. What would I say, “Hello, I am the girl who the first two times I met your son I was naked in a robe. By the way, from the moment I first saw him, I fell instantly head over heels in love with Bobby. I slept with your son over spring break. It was the most amazing night of my life I have ever had. Bobby was wonderful, he was sweet to me, he was the nicest guy. He even sent me flowers on my birthday. Yet because of my insecurities, my immaturity, despite what I felt, I sent him away like a lunatic. I kept telling your perfect son no. It's very nice to meet you!” I could see myself being escorted away to the nearest asylum with that insane answer.

Once again I doubted myself. I didn't believe I was strong enough to go to his funeral alone. I told myself I could not drive three and a half hours up there and back. I would be fine driving to Maplewood but coming home after his funeral, I would be a mess. I would cause an accident. I convinced myself I was not attending Bobby's funeral because I would be alone during the drive. I knew the real reason, my true fear. The thought of seeing Bobby's casket, knowing he was in there, was more than I thought I could endure. I wanted to remember Bobby's amazing eyes, his smile. He was so full of life. I was afraid after his funeral when I closed my eyes all I would see was his flag drapped casket. He was too alive in my memory. I loved his eyes when he looked into mine. I loved the way he held me when we danced, when we kissed. I never wanted to lose that memory. I never wanted to lose him. I was avoiding saying good bye. My heart was not ready to let go of Bobby.

The morning of the second arrived, it was overcast and drizzling. As I rose out of bed I looked out my window and thought, a perfect sad day, even the angels are crying. I dressed my daughter, took her to the sitters, drove home and crawled back into bed. I laid there staring at the clock watching the time slip slowly by. 10:00 a.m. his funeral was beginning. I began to cry uncontrollably asking God how was this fair? Why did I hurt so bad? I was tired of pain. I cried for awhile longer. I was regretting not going, not saying good bye. I owed him that much. I got changed and did something I had not done since college. I went outside and ran. I didn’t know why, I needed to forget, needed to clear my brain. When we ran laps as conditioning for gymnastics I loved when my brain hit the zone, I felt nothing. I needed to hit the zone. I could not lay there watching the clock wondering when he was being laid to rest. When he was going to be covered with dirt. I needed to stop feeling so much pain, so much guilt.

As I headed out the door I looked at the clock, noon. I wondered if his body was at the cemetery. I wiped the tears from my eyes and headed out the door. I ran to my old high school, when I got there I sat on the curb next to the baseball field between the parked cars. I could see the kids inside. Life was still normal for them. I longed for normal. Instead of heading home when I passed the middle school, I turned left and headed toward Chapelgate. I paused at the top of the big hill debating whether I should run down it. Halfway down the hill I tripped on the uneven surface of the grass and fell face first. I pounded the ground once with both my fists, I screamed as loud as I could, "Damn it!" I rolled over, brushed the dirt and grass off me, sat up and stared down the hill. I had no more energy. I did not feel like moving. I wanted to sit there and be numb. I preferred numb, it was better than a constant ache. It was better than feeling I was being swallowed by sorrow. After a few minutes I forced myself to get up, I had to pick up my daughter. I walked down the hill, cut through the woods to take the short cut home.

That night at dinner, my dad asked if everything was alright. I was spending a lot of time alone. My parents work, they come home, watch television then sleep. I love my parents, I know they love me. They have always given my sister and I everything we have ever needed. Growing up they never asked about boys, how I felt. They never asked that much about my friends. They set a curfew, I had rules to follow. To them that was what a parent did. If asked today, my parents would probably not be able to name two of my boyfriends. We never spoke of things like that. When my heart was broken I turned to my friends. Over dinner when asked, I told my Dad a good friend of mine died, he was buried today. He asked what had happened, I told him a helicopter crash. He said that was too bad, he was sorry. He would say a prayer for his family. That was the only conversation I ever had with my parents about Bobby.

It was impossible to sleep that night, I was regretting not attending Bobby's funeral. I should have paid my respects to his parents, his brothers. I laid awake in bed staring at the ceiling repeating, "I am so sorry Bobby. I let you down again." I rolled over looked at the clock. Triple ones. I stared at the clock willing the phone to ring one more time. 1:12 a.m. once again my wishful thinking could not turn back the hands of time. I turned on my light, opened my drawer and grabbed my pad of paper. When I opened the pad I stared at the letter I had written to Bobby. My eyes began to flood with tears. I knew then what I did not know Sunday night, early Monday morning. When I awoke anxious, sweaty and scared, filled with uneasy emotions and felt the need to write Bobby. Telling him how I felt, how I missed him. He was flying his final mission down the Bucao River. I was writing Bobby when his helicopter crashed, when he died. My brain did not know anything was wrong, but my soul felt it that night as I wrote him. Reflecting back I am convinced I felt my heart tear in half when he died. I grabbed the pad, wiped the tears from my eyes, then I tore Bobby's letter off and neatly stuffed it in my drawer next to his Christmas card. I took the pen from my nightstand. I opened my closet, pushed my clothes to the side. Like I had done when I was younger, when I was afraid or wanted to be alone I headed to the sanctity of my closet.

I pushed my shoes aside, sat with my back to the corner of my closet. I began to write a letter to Bobby's mom. I cried as I wrote how I was feeling, how wonderful her son was. How much I missed Bobby. I can't remember everything I wrote I was crying too hard. I simply filled the pages with my emotions. I tried my best to keep my handwriting legible. When I was done I had several pages. I did not proof read the letter. I was afraid if I did I would never mail it. I was amazed I remembered his address from a conversation in Pensacola. I placed the letter inside the envelope sealed it, placed a stamp on it. Placed it on my nightstand leaning against my telephone. As I turned off my light I looked at the clock. triple threes.

A short time later I received a card and letter from Bobby's mom. As I read her words, I understood where Bobby got his gentle side, his compassion. She had taught him to wipe away my tears, my pain. She had lost her son, yet she was consoling me. She was telling me to have faith, trust in God. She had been blessed, he was a wonderful son. She could tell from my words I loved her son. She was happy Bobby had someone who cared and loved him. Through my tears I read her letter several times before placing it in my on top of Bobby's postcards and letter I had written him.

My daughter would be the force that would keep me going. She would be my life line. The only reason I had the strength to get out of bed some days was the love I had for her. As the days passed, waking up and moving became a little easier. Some days I would find my eyes tearing up for no reason. Other days it would be a song that would cause me to cry. I never knew when I would feel the pain. Good days were when I could make it with out feeling the dull ache, the constand sorrow and emptiness. When as mean as it sounds, I was not reminded of Bobby.

At my parents' house, books, papers and mail end up stacked on top of each other. Clutter would collect quickly. When I lived there I did my best to keep it organized. After Bobby died I didn't have the extra energy to clean after my parents. I was tired from working , taking care of my munchkin and tired from grieving. Even when I had the energy to clean I understood, Dad’s end table next to his chair, was a no intrusion zone. It was stacked with his books, his mail.

It was the end of May. I had developed an unstable truce with my feelings. I was doing my best to come to terms with Bobby's death. It was my day off. My daughter and I were playing “I am going to get you” as I tried to catch her, wrangle her to her bedroom to get her dressed. She loved running around Grandpa’s chair. She would grab the afghan hanging off the back causing the chair to circle with her. It always made her giggle. As she ran around the chair holding the afghan the chair hit Grandpa’s end table knocking all his books and mail to the floor. We both stopped, laughed and exclaimed, “Uh Oh!”
I grabbed her, scurried her to her room, then dressed her so we could head to the playground.

Before heading out, I began to pick up the books and mail, stack them back on Dad’s table. I gathered the mail that had been knocked on the floor, my heart stopped. I recognized the handwriting on one of the envelopes that was addressed to me. There laying on the floor, in the middle of the scattered mail was a letter from Bobby. I grabbed it, then searched through the rest of the mail hoping to find another. There were no others. I stared at the letter for a moment. I called my neighbor and asked if my daughter could come play with her's for awhile. She said of course. I carried my daughter across the street, as I left her I promised to take her to the playground after lunch. Mommy had to do something very important, alone.

I rushed back home. I picked up my letter and headed back to my room. I laid it on my bed, ran my fingers across it as I stared at my name, my address in his handwriting. I wanted to open the letter but at the same time I was afraid. Like a well loved novel, for the next several months I would read Bobby's letter each night before falling to sleep.

I opened the letter, I discovered tucked inside the folded page was a photo of Bobby in his flight suit standing by the front of his helicopter. Staring at his image, I began to cry. Even his photograph took my breath away. Bobby was so gorgeous, extremely handsome. I smiled at his grin, the one I remembered so well. The smile that melted my heart time and time again.

I took a deep breath and began to read,

Denise,
It was wonderful talking to you. I missed you. I only wish I could have seen you. (all of you) The next month will be pretty hectic. I wanted to send you a photograph of me so when the Navy boys start knocking on your door you have a photo to remind you I am a much better catch!
Looking forward to sharing the soap on a rope one day.
Love,
Bob
PS It doesn’t matter who the father is, only the mother.

He promised he would write, true to his word, he kept his promise. I laughed and I cried when I read his letter. He was such a smart ass. He was so confident. Yes, he was the best catch. If only I could have caught him, if only I had another chance to try.

(Use the links to the left to continue on to part 8)

Bobby Part 6- Holding out hope

Like a little kid before their birthday I found myself rushing home every day to check the mail hoping to find a card, a letter, anything from Bobby. In my brain I had calculated how long it should take to hear from Bobby, five days for the letter to arrive, three days for him to answer, five days for his response to be delivered, a total of thirteen days. Looking back I am not exactly sure how or why I decided it would take three days for Bobby to respond. Maybe it was because his birthday was on the 13th? Sometimes there is no explaining how my brain reasons.

Two weeks passed, still no response. I was silly enough back then to believe in signs. The guy in the navy lacrosse t-shirt had to be a sign, he knew Bobby, he was able to get me his address. Wasn’t that a sign? I was not gong to lose faith, the card had to work. It was going to work, I knew it. I felt it.

A month passed with no answer. If the address was incorrect, the card would have been returned by now. In my mind I had selected the perfect card. I was confused. Why didn't it work? I was losing faith. I kept wondering maybe there are no signs. Was I crazy, obsessed? Did I need to forget, move on?

As a single mom my life consisted of two things, work and taking care of my munchkin. Life was busy, life was good but it was also incomplete. I am not sure why I carried such strong feelings for Bobby. I am not even sure I can describe what was going on inside of me. I felt like there was a constant pull on my heart when I thought of him. A feeling I was not where I was suppose to be. I felt like I had made a major mistake that left me lost, alone and there was no correcting it.

I loved watching my little girl grow. Every day there was something new she would discover. She was always smiling, always giggling. She made me happy yet every once in a while no matter how much I loved her, I would feel empty. There is the happiness a child gives you and there is the happiness that another person gives you. The two fill your heart. My heart was half full, it was missing the other half. I was longing for someone I could not reach, could not find. My heart longed for the impossible.

I began to question myself the way I had questioned Bobby so long ago. Did I truly want Bobby? Was I missing him so much because he had not answered my card? He was in essence saying no to me? Was I upset I was now losing the 'game'? Or was I missing him because I still wanted to be with him? Since I had first met Bobby, there was something in me that was uncontrollably attracted to him. I did not understand it, but I felt it. Was this the reason? Was I not letting go because he was no longer interested? Two years earlier, Bobby was not able to answer those questions. Now I was having the same problem. Once I discovered the answers. I would understand the crazy attraction, I would know what to do.

A few weeks later, I had dressed my little girl, carried her into my room so I could finish getting ready for church. Always the active child, she kept running around and climbing on my bed making it impossible for me to concentrate, get ready on time. To avoid the inevitable crash, the five minute meltdown that would follow, I picked her up and sat her on my dresser. To occupy her as I finished applying my make-up I handed her a bracelet from my jewelry box.

My little one, she loved jewelry more than anything, especially mommy's “sparkly” jewelry. When she was little, I loved watching her play, holding up each piece of jewelry to the light as if she was determining it’s value. That morning instead of amusing herself, she threw my bracelet on the floor. As I scolded her, she stood up on my dresser, began staring at herself in the mirror. I laughed, I watched her pat her hands on her own reflection. She began to talk to herself, smiling into the mirror when Bobby’s postcard from Pensacola caught her attention. She began to chant "Momma, Momma, Momma" then she reached over to try to grab the postcard off the mirror. I quickly scooped her up, whisked her off my dresser, away from the postcard. Determined not to give up, she stood on the floor pointing at the postcard, then began opening and closing her hand, her universal sign for give me that please. After a few minutes of grunting and pointing she finally asked in her sweet innocent voice, “Please?”
I laughed at her persistence then told her, “Sorry darling, you want the postcard, I want him. Neither one of us are going to get what we want. Looks like we are both out of luck. You need to give up.”

As I said those words, "You need to give it up", I thought to myself, maybe I need too as well. I scooped her up, put her coat on, before leaving the room to head out to church, I reached up and touched the postcard as I had done many times before in the past. Only this time I said, "I just don't know anymore."

After this long, when Bobby had not answered my card, there was no other explanation, I failed. I missed my opportunity. I had done my best the past few weeks to place Bobby in the back of my brain, remove him from my thoughts, forget him. When the words “I want him” came rolling off my tongue with no effort, no thought, I knew driving to church he was still very much present in my life. Sunday morning was another example of the numerous times without reason or explanation Bobby would invade my thoughts. When I first met Bobby what I felt for him scared me. Now the hold he had on me terrified me even more. I was confused. I was angry at myself for allowing what I felt for him to have so much control over me.

I sat in church waiting for the service to start. I wondered if now was the time to really let him go. Start to move on, not totally forget Bobby, but try not to remember, want him as much. I questioned, was it time to take down the postcard, the subtle daily reminder of Bobby from my mirror. Pack up his soap on a rope, his postcards, the napkin and his Christmas card, place them out of sight? Pack them away from the temptation to hold and read them?

When the organ started, when the service began I prayed to God to let me find peace. Help me learn what was going on in this crazy heart of mine, guide me to what was best for myself and my child. To please help me see what I needed to do. When I finished my prayer, I said a prayer for Bobby. I asked God where ever Bobby was, whenever he flew, please watch over him, always be with him. I told God if he only could answer one prayer of mine that day, please always be with Bobby. That would be enough. I walked out of the service that morning, I felt the sunlight hit my face, a calm came over me and I realized I knew. I had always known what I was feeling. I had always known what I should do.

After spending the night with Bobby in Pensacola, I was scared, terrified of what I was feeling. How strong those feelings were. I used Martin as an excuse to send Bobby away. Suddenly I realized, I sent him away because I was afraid of the hurt that would come if he left me like every man had done before. I was so afraid of the relationship ending, I didn't allow for the possibility we might have worked. By sending me flowers, silly gifts, postcards and cards, Bobby was saying, relax and see what happens. He wanted me to trust what I was feeling, not run away. He simply wanted me to give him a chance. I finally understood his persistence. We had one amazing night together. We both wanted more, he sensed it, yet I said no, I ran. Who walks away after an incredible night like that? Who does not want to see where it might lead? He scared me and I made no sense to him. Yet for a time, he did not give up on me.

I finally understood why he could not answer the questions I had posed to him that night in Annapolis. I at last comprehended how stupid those questions must have seemed. I no longer needed to be the girl he wanted to be with. I accepted, I was yes to both questions. Yes, he didn’t like losing, chasing me was a game. Bobby definitely did not like no for an answer, so he persevered trying to win. He wanted to change no to yes. I was the prize for winning the game. Once I understood the game, there was no denying the other reason he kept coming back. Why he kept trying for as long as he did. Part of him wanted to be with me again. For Bobby, at that time, the two questions were hand in hand, there was no separating them. He understood something I did not, only time would tell him which I would become, the game or the girlfriend. He was, I believe, willing to find out. I wanted to jump immediately to girlfriend not understanding, no matter what you feel, how much you are attracted to someone, you have to play the game first. I understood why he might not be willing to write back. If he wrote back, he had to wondered if I would assume it meant something more than what it was to him? With that awareness, I realized I wouldn’t respond to a flirtatious card like that, so why did I expect Bobby would? Instead of flirting, being funny I needed to apologize, write a normal letter. Allow him to get to know the real me.

I learned from Bobby if you want something bad enough, you have to play the game. It was now my turn to play the game. I accepted what I had felt for Bobby. I was still afraid but I was no longer going to run away from what I was feeling. I was ready to take the risk, good ending or bad. I needed to relax, have patience, have faith in myself, in Bobby and play out the game.

Bobby tried over and over to get me to give him a chance, get me to respond to him, acknowledge him. He wanted one more night to see if that would lead to another. If it did, great. If not at least we tried. He waited a long time before finally giving up on me. I owed him the same. I understood there was a very good chance after this long, he had found someone else. Bobby at times was intense, he loved life, lived hard and fast. If there was not a special someone, he was definitely dancing in the local bars, drinking at the officer's club, meeting women and having fun. All that did not matter. I knew what I felt made anything possible. The only obstacle I was afraid of, the only one that I might not be able to overcome he no longer wanted to see me. I dreaded the game we played before left him tired of me. He felt I was too insecure, too confusing, too exhausting. I feared Bobby had determined in his mind I was only going to be the fling from his past nothing more.

Bobby was in Guam. Instead of being afraid of the distance between us, I embraced it. I realized it was the perfect opportunity to do what I should have done long ago. If I was lucky, if Bobby allowed me, I was going to get to know him. I was going to be his friend. No longer afraid of what I was feeling, I was going to trust my instincts. Trust where I believed the friendship would lead us. I knew he needed to live, needed to have fun, before anything could happen between us. I needed to mature, learn to believe in myself. I had no doubt all we needed was time before we would both be ready for each other.

After tucking my daughter into bed, after saying our prayers, I headed back to my room, grabbed a pad of paper from my drawer. I smiled when I saw the soap on a rope and the post card from Whiting Field neatly stacked next to it. I repeated to myself what Sister Mary Rose had told me, "Have faith. I can make this work." I must have torn up a dozen pieces of paper that night trying to write the perfect opening. After two hours, I finally finished my letter to Bobby. I did not write much, yet I said everything that needed to be said. I told him about my job at Macy's. I joked around that I was learning his home state of New Jersey traveling to training sessions and meetings at the various Macy's. I told him, if you give me a Macy’s, I could tell him what exit number it was on the turnpike. I finally understood why in Pensacola he spoke with such passion about growing up in New Jersey. From everything I saw, the people I met, it was a great place to live. Although someone definitely had to explain Newark to me. I could not find anything positive about Newark. I wrote him about my daughter, her crazy stubborn personality she obviously got from her mom. I loved how each day she seemed to change. I apologized for being stupid after Pensacola. I thanked him for the flowers, for the postcards etc. For now I wanted to see if we could be friends, see where that might lead. I closed the letter, repeating what he had said to me many times in the past, “When you are ready I will be here, Denise”

Monday morning on my way to work, I placed the letter in the mail. Unlike in the past, after mailing the letter I did not rush home to check my mailbox everyday. I did not set any silly time lines on when I should receive a response. I was for the most part patient. From time to time, I would still look at his postcard on my mirror and wonder what he was doing. Bobby was flying, at least I knew he was happy.

It took me a while but I understood what Sister Mary Rose tried to explain to me after my daughter’s birth. I had to have faith in what I felt, and I had to have faith in Bobby. Not in what Bobby did or did not feel but faith enough to trust him that he would always do what was best for me. He had always looked out for me in the past, he was a good man. I finally knew I could trust him with my heart He would be true to his word, he would not hurt me. I was no longer rushed for instant answers, I believed I had time. I was learning to let go of the fear and trust in faith.

Weeks passed, still no card, no letter from Bobby. I didn't panic, I didn't lose hope. On occasion I would find myself dreaming of the morning we first met or of our night in Pensacola. The longing was still there, it never left me. I tried to ignore the feelings, put them on the back burner, concentrate on work, on being a mom. After I mailed the first letter, I decided I did not want to appear to be desperate. I would wait for a response from Bobby before I would write another. Christmas was almost here, his birthday was in March. If I did not hear from him before then, I would send him a card for each. After all it is no big deal with a friend sends a simple card.

The Macy's where I worked was the newest store in the chain. My department carried all the high end designer clothes. An order for my department to survive in our area I was in charge of developing and keeping a client base. I worked hand in hand with the personal shoppers at our store. To help reach my sales goals, at least once a month I was sent to an older more established store so I could see how they displayed the clothing, arranged their department. Learn how they established/built their client base. Take what I learned and translate it to success in my department. With the passage of time, I learned to change my longing for Bobby, turn all my misplaced energy into drive. I worked hard and did my best to excel at our store, in the company. Every month, my department sales rose. At night if I felt the urge, the need to write Bobby, I would pull out my weekly reports, work on projections. Look at sales from around our division, see what store I could trade merchandise with. Rid my department of what wasn’t selling and bring more merchandise in that was. Several times a year all managers from the various stores were sent to Newark or New York to meet with the buyers. Get a sneak peak at the clothing lines being delivered for the upcoming season. The first 3 months I worked at Macy's I traveled to Monmouth, Paramus, Cherry Hill and Newark. Every time I entered New Jersey I was reminded of Bobby. I was reminded of the longing that never left me no matter how hard I tried ignore what I was feeling.

A week before Thanksgiving Cheryl and I spent our lunch hour in the hallmark store picking out various Christmas cards to send to our friends and family. The insanity of holiday shopping was fast approaching. In retail, once black Friday arrives, an hour long lunch would be impossible. Twelve hour days, short lunches and short dinners would be normal. I sifted through the cards, after a few minutes I found the perfect Christmas card for Bobby. On the outside of the card a radio announcer speaking with his “eyewitness news helicopter" asking about his eye in the sky reporter about Santa On the inside was a drawing of a helicopter with Santa spinning in it's blades above. It was stupid funny, it was very much a me card. Worried I would be too exhausted in the coming weeks to write a coherent sentence. Later that night I wrote a quick note on the inside of Bobby's card, signed it then placed it in my drawer. I did the same with all the cards I had purchased. I determined I would mail my cards on the way to work Black Friday. My cards would get to their destinations on time but not too early. I of course placed Bobby's card on top of the soap on a rope. It seemed like the perfect place to store it.

Right before Thanksgiving Leigh and Cathleen's roommate from college came to visit the munchkin and I. We use to joke around that Janice was going to be the only one of us to marry a Naval Academy grad.  She loved midshipmen and dated quite a few of them but never of them ever held her interest or heart long enough. Janice had stopped by to tell me, she was in love and was pretty sure he was going to ask her to marry him. She was hoping for Christmas he would give her a ring.

I was happy for her and amazed at the same time. As we sat in the living room, Janice told me all about the man she was convinced was going to marry her. I was surprised to learn he was not a Naval Academy graduate. At one point as we talked, the munchkin came running by and that oh so familiar odor came wafting after her. It was time for a diaper change. I told Janice if she was brave enough, she could follow me into my room, we could continue to talk as I changed my child’s diaper. As we continued our conversation, Janice noticed the postcard on my mirror, the large lettering White Sands of Pensacola caught her eye. She asked who it was from? I responded Bobby Bianchi. Once again one of my friends unknowingly reinforced my insecurities about Bobby. Janice smiled in amazement, then said, "Damn he's hot. I can't believe he sent you a postcard. Nothing personal but he is so out of your league." Then she added, “I tried to pick him up once, he blew me off. So damn how did you do it? How did you get him?”
I had the option to laugh or cry at her statement. I chose to laugh, responded, "I have no clue."
Then almost as a second thought Janice added, "I heard he was in love, getting married or something" Trying to stay calm, I asked who told her? Was she sure it was Bobby? She answered she was pretty sure. She heard it from on of the guys she knew at a bar. If I wanted to be sure, I should call Leigh. The irony, the one person I believed I could not ask about Bobby was Leigh or her husband. Maybe that explained why he never answered my card, my letter, he was in love with someone else and did not want to hurt me, lead me on.

I should be apologetic, ashamed, I had sworn months earlier, I would never let myself drown in self pity again. Yet there I was having a pity party before going to bed. In my prayers I asked God, what was so wrong with me? Leigh was married and living in Guam. Cathleen was married and living in Pensacola. Janice was happy and in love. I learned Bobby was in love. I wasn’t perfect but honestly Janice finding love before me? I reasoned with God, I pleaded my case, I tried to be good, so why didn't I deserve to find someone who loved me? Why did God allow me to have these crazy longings, feelings for Bobby, when he was in love with someone else? How was that fair? That night I fell asleep with questions saturating my brain and tears filling my eyes.

The next morning I awoke with a new attitude, not a good one but a new one. Hell with love, hell with men, I didn’t need either. I had my job, I had a beautiful daughter that was enough. The morning after Thanksgiving on my way in to work as I had planned, I mailed all my Christmas cards, all except for Bobby’s. I debated sending the card for a moment before I threw it back in my drawer next to the soap on rope. I had lost faith in myself, what I felt, what I knew to be true in my heart.

In retail, every season the managers are sent to the buyers office. In the heat of the summer, managers preview the upcoming winter fashions. When the leaves are falling, the cruise and spring lines are highlighted. It was freezing, it was cold, meant only one thing, time to preview the upcoming summer lines. February 1987 Cheryl, Kristen and I loaded up in Cheryl’s car and headed to Newark to meet with our department buyers, get a first look at the summer lines. We left Marley Station earlier than normal, we were stopping in Short Hills to pick up Lisa. She was the Attitudes manager in Paramus. Lisa and her husband lived in Short Hills. We had decided when planning our trip, after our buyer's meetings we were going to have dinner at a local restaurant Lisa loved.

The beauty of my department, it was not carried in every store, so my buyer’s meetings were always short, on time. Not as many managers equals not as many questions, in and out quickly. Lisa and I sat in the employees lounge drinking coffee, waiting for Cheryl and Kristen to finish. Soon Kristen joined us, an hour plus later Cheryl joined us. Lisa and Cheryl wanted to check out the Newark store, see what clothing they had that our stores did not carry before we left. Four women talking and shopping, the afternoon floated by without anyone really noticing. It was a little after six when we finally started back to Short Hills. Lisa took shotgun so she could direct Cheryl where to go, how to avoid traffic on the way back. Sitting in the backseat I felt my heart drop when I saw the sign for Maplewood, Bobby’s hometown. As we drove by, I wondered how far were we from the house Bobby grew up in? I looked in the distance, wondered where Columbia High School was? Where was the field he played lacrosse on? I looked out the window, wanting to see him, wanting to hold him, if only for one more time.

We were all exhausted when we arrived in the parking lot where we had met Lisa that morning. We decided we were all too tired for dinner. As I got out of the car to move to the front seat I remembered I had Lisa’s papers and notebook in my briefcase. I had placed them in there when we were shopping. I asked Kristen to hand me my bag. Lisa and I stood under the lights with my briefcase resting on the hood of the car. As we talked and I searched for her papers, they had some how intermixed with mine. While I was standing there a weird sensation came over me. I felt as if someone was staring at me. I am not sure if I was too tired or too scared to look, either way I ignored my gut, the feeling and kept talking to Lisa. Cheryl got out of the car to stretch her legs, say goodbye. We talked for a minute longer. I hugged Lisa goodbye, threw my briefcase in the back, then hopped in the front seat of the car.

I buckled my seatbelt, then Kristen announced, “Wow Denise there was a really hot guy staring at you for awhile. I kept trying to get your attention so you would look. I even banged on the window, but you ignored me.”
I asked her where was the guy. She pointed to the right of us. As Cheryl pulled out of the parking space, I rolled down my window to try to see this "really hot" man. As I looked, all I could see was the back of his head, as he turned around heading to join a small group in front of him. As Cheryl pulled out of the parking lot I found myself questioning out loud, “Bobby?”
With that one word, saying his name outloud, Cheryl slammed on her brakes. The sudden stop startled me, I told Cheryl no, it was just my wishful thinking. Bobby was in Guam. I looked back again. one more time trying to see if I could get one last glance, see who it was. As we drove off Kristen stated, “Bobby or not, he was gorgeous and he was taking you all in. We should go back and have dinner. Maybe he will come over to our table, we can find out who he is. Find you a man!”
I answered annoyed, “Just what I need another guy from Jersey breaking my heart. Let's please go home!"

When I arrived home, my munchkin was sound asleep. I brushed her hair away from her face, dropped the side of her crib, lifted her sleeping body out, sat down with her in the rocker. As I began to rock, she awoke for a second, put her arms around my neck, then nuzzled against me and fell quickly back to sleep. I sang to her as I rocked back and forth. After a few minutes, I closed my eyes, when I did, I was back in Pensacola, sitting on the deck, seeing Bobby's smile once again. I surprised myself, I didn’t cry, there were no tears. I continued to sing to my daughter, and enjoyed the memory of that night in Pensacola.

A few nights later, my phone rang. As I rolled over to answer it, I looked at the time 1:11 a.m. Triple ones. Expecting it to be Cheryl or another one of my friends who couldn’t wait to tell me about their hot date, I answered the phone, “This better be good”
I heard, “What if I told you I saw a girl that reminded me of you?”
“Oh my God, Bobby?”
“You know one day you might try saying hello when I call”
“So does this mean there is a possibility you might call me again?”
Bobby paused for a moment, then answered very matter of fact, “Yes, it's possible.”

At that moment, when I heard his answer, when it registered in my brain, my heart exploded, I was happy. I did not want to blow this. I knew I had to control myself from saying something stupid, ruining this second or third chance I had been given.

I asked him if he received the card and the letter I mailed. Without hesitation, very matter of fact, he replied yes he had. Maybe it was nerves, I am not sure why but I began to chuckle. He asked what was so funny. I questioned, “You didn’t answer me because you threw my letters away? Did you at least read them first? It’s okay, I don’t blame you. I get it, I would have done the same thing.”
Before I let him answer, I asked one more question, something more important to me, “If you didn’t answer my letters, why are you calling me now? I am just curious.”

He was honest, I can't fault him, he always had been in the past. He admitted he thought after everything, he didn't want to see me. Then when he saw someone that reminded him of me, he realized he was wrong. For some unexplainable reason he wanted to see me, at least talk to me. Then he paid me one of the nicest compliments a man has ever given me,
“I tried hard to forget you. But you are one impossible woman to forget." Then he added, "I have a feeling you might ruin my reputation one day”
I smiled, then I admitted, I was having the same problem. I didn’t understand it, but I couldn’t forget him either. I joked around it must be that damn shower we took! Which started us both laughing. I knew he was smiling when he said, “Yeah we definitely need to do that again.”
I couldn't believe how easily, “Yes we do!" came out of my mouth in response.

I apologized for my stupidity in the past, I would do my best not to let that happen again. Bobby surprised me when he asked about my daughter, her father. I was honest, maybe not totally honest. I told him about the pros and cons list, how that night I realized I did not want her father. I could not see myself marrying him. I did not tell Bobby it was him I realized I wanted that night. I asked Bobby a question, a question I was afraid to hear his answer. I asked if it mattered that I had a child? Did it matter who her father was? He was painfully honest, he answered he didn’t know, he didn't think about her father, only me. Time would teach us both how to handle the situation.

He then asked about the letter I sent. He was confused about what I wanted, what did I mean by let's try to be friends? To him, that statement is what you say when you don’t want to see someone, you are simply trying to be nice.

I explained to him before I gave birth to my daughter I had screwed up everything in my life, especially relationships. I confessed I was immature, I had a lot of growing up still left to do. Once I became a mom, screwing up was no longer an option. I had to do things right, my daughter depended on me. Sometimes doing the right thing means taking two steps backward before moving forward. I hoped I was right, but it seemed now was the perfect time to get to know each other. Then if he wanted we could move forward from there. I told him I knew he had a lot more “womanizing” to do. He had a lot of fun to discover before he was going to be ready for me. Ready for anything more than friendship. He needed to get it all out. I needed to grow up. If what I was feeling was right, I would be here waiting for him. He asked me why now, what changed? How was I so sure? I replied to him, “Army Navy you said and I quote, ‘you think, I know” Well now it is my turn to say, you think I know."
“You know?”
“Yep I do. I definitely know."
"Should I ask what you know?"
"Nope!"

He changed the subject and asked me, “I am positive I know the answer but thought I would ask anyway. Hear the answer from you. Do you still want me? Do you ever think about just doing it again? What it would be like now?”
I took a deep breath, gathered my courage and answered, “Yes, always have. And more nights than I would like to admit”
Then I added, “Why else would I keep your soap on a rope?”
I heard him laughing. He couldn’t believe I kept the “cheap” soap. I exclaimed. “Cheap I know. You left the price tag on it. Nice to know I am only worth four dollars!”
He interrupted, “Plus postage.”
I continued, “oh, yeah, sorry six dollars. By the way, the paper towel wrapping, smooth, very smooth.”
I added it was a good thing he was gorgeous, it was the only reason I let the paper towel wrapping slide. Normally that would have been the end. He would have been crossed off the list!!

He told me he instantly thought of me when he saw it hanging in the drug store. He couldn't resist, he had to buy it. He added, he was only trying to be helpful. After all I kept dropping the soap in the shower. That is when I interrupted, pointed out he did not seem to mind I kept dropping it. He kind of enjoyed it, I enjoyed it. I reminded him he even asked me to drop the soap one more time. He interrupted, pointed out I did not grant his request, I did not follow instructions very well. I wasn’t going to win this dispute. How do you argue with someone when you are blushing from head to toe, remembering the best night of your life? It is impossible to win an argument with someone who leaves you speechless. I cried Uncle.

As Bobby spoke I soaked in the sound of his voice. I wanted to hold on to him as long as possible before he had to hang up. I wanted to be able to remember everything about the conversation. His tone changed when he asked how work was going, what was my schedule like that week. I told him crazy, there was a cycle to the madness of retail management. We prepare for sales, have a sale. Never fails after the one day sales, we have to stay late to prepare for a store visit from some big wig or another. When we are not doing all of the above, we prepare for buyers meetings. Projections, sell through, weeks supply all part of my new vocabulary. I liked my job, who I worked with, but this was not going to be my career. I went on to tell Bobby I had to work the next 9 days straight. The majority of days irons, twelve hour shifts. The bonus, at least I was earning comp time, by the end of August I would have a week of vacation, as of now fourteen plus days of comp time to go with it. I would have a year to use it all. I could use the comp time and vacation separately or I could combine them and use them all at once.

I joked around, yet at the same time I was serious. In August, if he still wanted to see me, my vacation time was all his. I would beg my parents to babysit. I would pack the soap on a rope, name the time, the place, I would be there. He was quiet for a moment. I could tell he was debating what to say, then I heard him say, “ That might work. We'll see. Promise?”
“Promise”

Then he made a joke, asked me a question that haunts me to this day. “While you are handing out promises. Promise me you are not going to let me die an old man not knowing what it’s like to be with you again?”
I was grinning ear to ear when I answered, “I promise, scouts honor”
“Are you sure?"
“Yes Mr. Bianchi, I am sure. Very sure.”
“Just checking, we do have a past history to worry about. Promising then walking away”
Then I asked him how long I was going to be given grief about my prior stupidity. His answer was forthright, direct, and very funny, “Until I decide to stop.”
Honest once again.

Then I heard Bobby take a strange pause, like he was taking a deep breath, debating what was going on in the conversation, if he and I were both saying too much. I asked him what was wrong. He explained, he knew when this got out, he was going to be given shit for years. I tried to lighten the moment by joking, "I think I am worth it. At least I hope I am." Then added, “ If it helps I think your brother might like me”
“Kevin, yes he does. He has reminded me on several occasions you are gorgeous.”
“Seriously? Gorgeous?”
“Yes, gorgeous" Almost annoyed he questioned, "You really have no clue how desirable you are?”
“No, all I have been told over and over, by everyone who knows both of us, you are out of my league. Way out of my league”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t sleep with ugly women.”
I couldn't help it, I jokingly asked, “Even when you’re drunk?" I paused, then adding, "Just kidding. Thank you I get the compliment, understood.”
"Accepted?"
"Accepted!"

I rolled over in bed, looked at the clock, it was a little past 3 in the morning. I told Bobby we needed to hang up, the phone bill was going to kill his paycheck. He laughed, said, no it wouldn’t he was using his brother Kevin’s calling card. I wasn't sure if he was serious or joking. Either way I couldn’t stop myself from laughing out loud. I asked exactly how was he going to explain the bill to his brother. He wasn’t, he hoped Kevin wouldn't notice or blame Jimmy, it would better that way. He explained, if Kevin knew, he would try to get even with Bobby. He could see his brother picking me and the munchkin up on his way home to Jersey from Pensacola. It would be show and tell time at the Bianchi household. Kevin would proudly announce, “Hey Mom look what I found” By the time he was done the entire neighborhood would be over at the house, wine would be flowing, photos would be all over the local paper. I had to admit, it was funny. I could definitely see his brother doing something crazy. I told Bobby don’t worry his secret was safe with me, I knew nothing. If anyone asked we never talked.

I sighed as I explained to Bobby the last thing I wanted to do was hang up, but I needed to get some sleep. My natural alarm clock was going to be waking up in a few hours, plus I imagined he had happy hour and wild women waiting for him. At the time it never registered with me when he said it was a little too early for happy hour.

Before I hung up I told Bobby go have fun, be wild, in time, if he still wanted to 'take a shower' with me, I would be here. I added for once, I would relax, wait to follow his lead.
He made a joke, an off handed comment, asking me to try not to fall for any of the Navy guys still hanging around in Annapolis. I assured him from past experiences he had nothing to worry about. He asked what I meant. I explained, I tended to fall in love with you Navy boys, you all never fall in love with me. I can still hear his voice when he responded, “I wouldn't be so sure.”

I hated to end the phone call but I knew if I didn’t we would talk until daybreak. I apologized to him, I really needed to sleep. Then I asked a favor of him I made him promise me he would be safe. I told him to have fun, but be sure to bring his gorgeous ass back home. I was looking forward to one day using the soap on a rope with him. He promised me he would. He was also looking forward to putting the soap to good use. He added try to behave while he was gone.
I responded, “Not a problem remember I am a boring mom now”
“There is nothing boring about you” was his reply.
“Thanks for calling. Night Bobby, be safe”
“Night Denise, I will”

I was happy, I was tired, I was excited. I opened my dresser drawer, picked up the soap on a rope, held it for a few minutes before putting it back, closing the drawer and falling fast asleep.

(Use the links on the left to continue on to part 7)