My battleaxe

My battleaxe. (Photo by BobbaLew.)

“Oh, don’t call her that,” a female friend said.
I just said I missed my old battleaxe immensely.
My battleaxe is my beloved wife, who died four years ago.
I was attending the 50-year reunion of my class at Houghton College (“HO-tin;” as in “hoe,” not “how” or “who”).
Like me, my wife was also a graduate of my class. We graduated in 1966. She didn’t make the reunion.
Houghton is a religious college. Very strict when we were there — I don’t know if it is now.
I wasn’t religious. I always am amazed I found a similar unbeliever, at Houghton of all places.
She ended up being the best friend I ever had. And after my childhood I sure needed one.
She died of cancer. I never got the full explanation.
I was devastated; still am somewhat.
I guess it was breast-cancer first, without a primary site.
It spread to her lymph nodes, so I was told it was lymphoma.
I thought she would survive. Every time we used the strong chemo, we snuffed it.
But it kept returning, and you can only use the strong chemo a few times.
Nothing else worked. We ran out of options.
“Old battleaxe” was a term of endearment.
She didn’t dislike it — I was referred to as “the old man.”
“Battleaxe” was offset by my telling her she had what mattered, which was what was between the ears.
She wasn’t a sexpot or tart, or even a wannabee.
But she was always a fabulous discussion.
Often we thought alike. “I was just going to make the same comment,” she’d say.
Long ago, when I was a teenager, we’d visit an uncle who had a daughter named Judy.
That made her my cousin, one of many.
She wasn’t cute, but had what mattered. She was a fabulous discussion.
I used to say I wanted someone I could talk to like Judy.
That was my old battleaxe, who stayed with me despite how screwed up I was.
44+ years.

• The uncle was Uncle Bill, actually Ethelbert. He was a civil engineer. He loudly claimed he built the entire Ben Franklin Bridge (a large suspension bridge over the Delaware River between Philadelphia and Camden NJ) single handed with only a toothpick. He also claimed he invented the submarine sandwich, except “them greasy Eye-talians ruined it by using ‘maters instead of cucumbers.” He also claimed to be “the world’s largest leprechaun.” (He was overweight.) —Is it any wonder I write like I do?