This is a special entry to remind folks that that not all anniversaries are good ones and that some are life changers.
Today marks the 53rd year that I have been consumed, on this date, with memories of a life changing event. It was on February 1, 1967, that my life changed forever. It was the day that I received a phone call - at around 8:15 AM - that my wife (Patty Ann White Reed) of just over two years was involved in an auto accident and was returned in very serious condition to the hospital where she worked - Princeton Hospital in Princeton, New Jersey.
We were, at the time, on the threshold of building a wonderful life.
We were within two monthly payments of completing the purchase of a lot not far from Princeton to build our house. It was in a new neighborhood and we had a choice, corner lot with woods in the rear. Along with being pregnant with our first child, there was lots to look forward to. We both were making good money and had wonderful jobs.
We had only the one vehicle - the 1965 Ford Mustang convertible - that we shared for driving to and from work. She used it during the night while I slept and she worked, and I used it during the day while she slept and I worked at McGraw Hill in Hightstown. Essentially, we only had the time together (except for weekends) from around 5 PM in the evening until around 10 PM when she had to leave for work. Her position at the Princeton Hospital was as the Charge Nurse in the Intensive Care unit for the night shift. She was an excellent nurse that followed in her mother's footsteps and her grandmother's footsteps. I will always remember the conversations we had about one of her patients - Doug Bo, a Princeton University football player who was in a coma since his injury in a game the previous November. She used to remind me of the sorrow that surrounded visits from his parents and their prayers to have Doug get well. She always said that she would never want her family to go through that kind of sorrow. Little did we know. It turned out that Doug Bo never came out of his coma before passing away - not long after Pat was admitted in a coma.
The prognosis for Pat was not good from the very beginning. She had endured a fractured skull in the crash which resulted in a brain hemorrhage that allowed blood to enter her spinal fluid - a sign of permanent brain damage. I was told that there were two trucks that hit her as she skidded on the ice that was present that morning. She almost made it through the crash until the second truck struck the passenger door causing the force to hit her in the head. The seat belt she was wearing in the auto saved the life of our unborn child. The reports from the doctors indicated that she would never be normal again - even if she somehow, miraculously, recovered from the accident. The brain damage was so significant that she would have the mentality of an infant child.
It was Easter Sunday, March 26, 1967 when I walked into the intensive care waiting room to visit her and was greeted by doctors who informed me that Pat gave birth - naturally, to a 3 lb, 13 ounce baby girl who was placed in an incubator. A fear that I had all along to this point was that the child may not be normal as a result of all the medications given to her mother. We all know how those fears were unfounded as our daughter - Patty - is a beautiful, smart, and wonderful woman today. I love her to death. I thank God for that gift and her mother would be proud. I named the child after Pat as I knew that she would probably never have a say in what to name her. I can, along with everyone who ever knew Pat, see her mother in her. What would I do without her I my life?
After nearly one year of realizing that our prayers for a recovery for Pat would not be answered, I started thinking about creating a normal life for Patty. The job of caring for Patty rest totally on her grandmother - Clara White - to start, and then with her other grandmother (my mother) for the foreseeable future. I decided to change jobs and move to Pennsylvania to be closer and to help my mother as best I could. Prior to leaving New Jersey, I had spent some time trying to live a normal life. Then, I met Josie at McGraw Hill who immediately made an impression on me for her caring and honesty. We had a wonderful, growing relationship which I continued after leaving New Jersey. Josie never cared about the prospect of never marrying as long as Pat was alive and only cared about me and Patty.
Toward the end of 1967, the doctors suggested relocating Pat to a Convalescent Home as they had done all they could for her. During the entire stay, I was never charged one penny for Pat's care as she was treated as one of their own at the hospital. Pat would remain at the Convalescent Home until she passed away in June, 1971. Josie and I were married in October of that year after spending almost two years together. I will never forget the commitment that Josie made to mine and to Patty's happiness and well being without expecting anything in return. I even suggested that she sign on with Braniff Airlines as a stewardess and try to establish a life for herself since mine was on hold. The one year she worked for Braniff was almost like she never left me as she was always calling to get updates on Patty and our lives. She finally quit the airlines and moved in with me in 1970 without any expectations or without any concern about what the public may have thought. In those days, to live together without being married was not the norm. Now, I cannot imagine my life without Josie. I love her so much!
I often wonder how things would be different if my life had not taken that turn in 1967. There is no question that my life would have been more structured from the standpoint of staying in one place longer, and that I probably would have made a long career at McGraw Hill and Pat would have had a nice career at the Princeton Hospital. I will never know. I do know that our lives - mine and Josie's - has been wonderful and filled with exploration of places and experiences that we both never dreamed we would have.
I also have another anniversary to celebrate on February 1, 2020 - It has now been 21 years since I quit smoking. THAT is a good anniversary....