I have always been struck by the truth in the two simple lines that open Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities:
“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.”
Those two opposite ideas existing at the same time is what we call an antithesis—and I’ve seen a lot of that in my life.
Let me briefly examine two periods that epitomize those unforgettable words.
Spring, 1964. I’m 25 (head full of mush). My Air Force career is starting to bloom. I’m a C-130 aircraft navigator, stationed at Charleston AFB, living in one of the most beautiful, historic cities in the U.S.
My job requires me to fly to, find, and visit some of the most interesting, exotic, and sometimes filthy places on the planet. Karachi, Pakistan; Recife, Brazil; Ascension Island; Beirut, Lebanon; Tehran, Iran; Adana, Diyarbakir, Samsun, Trabzon and Yalova, Turkey; Asmara, Ethiopia; the Congo; Johannesburg, South Africa; and Christchurch, New Zealand, to name a few.
Oh yeah… Danang, Vietnam.
I’m also dating a beautiful lady named Marjorie, who calls Charleston home and loves it, but also loves my home town of New York, which she had recently visited. The first southern girl I ever met who didn’t fear or hate NYC.
So what’s wrong?
Well, my mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer that had invaded many parts of her body. She was with me in Charleston. As a caregiver, I kinda sucked. Traveling all over the world for Uncle Sam didn’t help. The aircrew scheduler wasn’t too happy with me either. A really tough time.
On May 16, Mom lost her battle with cancer and was finally at peace.
My girlfriend, Marjorie, was much more than a girlfriend. She was a magnificent help to Mom and me during that difficult time.
On June 9, I asked her to marry me.
She said yes, and made me the happiest I had ever been in my life, during the saddest time of my life.
(Antithesis.)
August 28. Tomorrow, I am to be married.
The happiest event of my life.
Oops. Hurricane Cleo is coming.
Predicted to hit Charleston… yep, tomorrow.
My groomsmen were all alerted to move aircraft away from Charleston. I was on leave to get married and didn’t get the alert. I had to scramble to find non-flyers to be my groomsmen. We did, and the wedding and reception went quite well. Cleo only brushed Charleston. We were spared.
(Antithesis.)
Life happened.
61 years of unbridled joy, mixed with several difficulties.
Three great kids.
One lost before birth.
Several great Air Force tours.
Some not so great, like one year for me in Vietnam.
Then, finally, moving back to Charleston—Marjorie’s home and happy place—in September 1989.
Same city. Different season of life.
Two weeks later, a direct hit from Hurricane Hugo.
(Antithesis.)
We retired from the Air Force in 1991, at Charleston (no surprise).
I had a rewarding, challenging final career at Trident Technical College, a two-year state tech college that really taught folks how to do something productive.
That career ended in 2004, partly because of my brushes with death from colon cancer, which I beat with God’s help and great medical care.
Now it’s 2025.
Marjorie—my wife, love, best friend, half of my life—had gotten progressively weaker and had totally lost her taste for food. A probable side effect from Covid, which she recovered from a few years ago. Not being able to enjoy food doesn’t help one’s appetite.
We still managed to get out and about for breakfast most mornings.
Okra Grill, Marina Variety Store, Sunrise Bistro, and Cracker Barrel were regular stops. They all knew us and always took good care of us. Thank you.
By October, Marjorie had gotten so weak that I had a wheelchair for her. In spite of her weakness, I thought her main problems were mobility related and not life-threatening.
With my pacemaker/defibrillator, diabetes, and plumbing that didn’t work, I thought I was in more jeopardy than Marjorie.
I was wrong.
Her hospitalization and struggle from October 22 until October 31 were the most difficult days of my 86 years on this earth.
The worst of times.
At the same time, I was blessed with a three- and one-year-old beautiful great-grandchild.
The best of times.
(Antithesis.)
What should I expect in this final stage of my time?
Guess we’ll have to wait and see.
No reason to not expect more of the same. That seems to be how life works.
Enuf.
