Inertia is a bitch. After six months, I’ve finally started culling Lynn’s files. Yesterday, the first file I mindlessly grabbed was her “adoption” file. Which details her search for her birth mother, a couple of phone calls with her, and lots and lots of journaling about her feelings about her birth mom’s inability to embrace her. Most of the journaling was from Lynn’s 30s and 40s, her beautiful penmanship a reminder of her healthy pre-MSA self.

Despite the beautiful penmanship, the writing was sometimes blurry, since I was reading it through tears.

File two was a much needed relief. Labeled, “Swimming records”, I thought to myself, what the hell? I did not know my wife of 38 years kept a detailed list of all her personal records, some set alone “off the wall” while lap swimming at the Briggs Y and some in events Mel Smith organized at the Briggs Y, and some in a sprint triathlon or two she entered. She even had researched sprint tris in the area and notated them with things like “hilly run”. Mind blown.

My athletic experience with her was dusting her when we worked out together at the Y. Because, of course, I had to let her know who was the bossman. But in fairness, she did beat me in HORSE once and she routinely beat me when we wrestled. She’d brag about how strong her legs were and make such a serious funny face that I would laugh so hard that she would easily get me in a leg wrap and pin me.

Dig this artifact from the “Swimming records” archive. And remember what “they” say. No one remembers who came in second.

Lynn for the winn.