I wrote a column long ago about the importance of telling people thank you and I love you and you hold a special place in my heart before you can’t tell them anymore. Those moments of too late creep up on us, though, and there we stand behind the pulpit at a funeral recounting magical moments to people who weren’t there and might not really care anyway.
I should have told Jack Custer long ago thank you and I love you and you hold a special place in my heart. I hope it’s not too late.
Jack came to my rescue on one of the worst days of my life. New Year’s Day 1994. Pregnant. Crampy. Three months from my due date.
I went to my mom’s to relax in a nice hot bath. The next part sounds a little less charming.
There I sat, naked on the toilet, waiting for the tub to fill. Sorry for the visual. If you’re squeamish here’s fair warning: it gets worse.
Like I said, I’m naked on the toilet. Pregnant. Crampy. Three months from my due date. That’s when I felt it.