Literature of Life
by
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March 7, 1977
Orlando, Florida
Woodbury, Connecticut
Dear Auntie Bussie,
I have had a recurring strong urge to write to you, composing many letters in my head, but tonight I'm going to sit down and let this one flow onto paper. My schedule is so exhausting now that I usually have little energy left to write.
I've hoped we could talk when you come to Florida but am afraid there won't be an opportunity. I did tell Bob's folks I thought it would be good if I could talk with them, but they preferred not to - and maybe you would, too. So there are no strings to this letter. I've been in the family for over half of my life, though, and my nature rebels against just sliding out of it without a few words from my heart and a goodbye of some kind.
Twenty-four years ago I would have sworn on 24 Bibles that the situation which now exists would never happen to us. I remember so well a letter from you at that time, Auntie Bussie, when love was new and exciting and untested. In it you cautioned that every couple thinks their love is different, that they won't have the problems others have. And I thought, "Oh, but she just doesn't know, ours will be different!" Ah, the innocence of youth.
Of course, at that time I think both families were concerned about the dissimilarity in our family backgrounds, but I honestly believe our problems weren't caused so much by that fact as by the differences in our very basic natures. You may feel - and be right - that those differences are formed by background, too. All I remember is how I looked forward to marriage as a marvelous, warm, sharing, very close relationship. Now, looking back with that always-keen 20/20 hindsight, I realize I was floating about in a rose-colored bubble of romance - with absolutely no idea how to be an independent person - fully expecting that Bob would fulfill my every need ... forever.
Oh my, so naive, and my expectations were completely unrealistic, although I didn't know or admit the truth of that for many years. It was the onset of menopause, approaching my 40th birthday, more and deeper feelings of "Is this all there is?" and "Who am I, anyway?" It was the shattering of the dream of what I thought my life would be and the things I had always held dear - wifehood and motherhood. I became convinced that I had given the best years of my life and, even after that magnanimous offering, I was still so little appreciated. What awful, mixed-up feelings assailed me. I didn't like myself much. And I didn't know how to handle myself - as a person, a wife or a mother - in the face of such disappointments and questions and confusion.
Bob and I talked over the problems in several sessions with a marriage and family therapist and during counseling from a wonderful minister, but I think help came too late. Now we agree that our bond as husband and wife is broken. It's the death of a marriage. And it is a terrible loss. Any relationship has to be carefully and consistently nurtured or it will die. It's understandable. After a certain point, though, we just couldn't seem to give each other what the other one needed.
I've decided to rent an apartment nearby, and David and I will move within the next two weeks. Bob prefers to continue living at the house while it's on the market. It seems best for Skip to stay there with his dad for the next few months until he heads to Alabama to attend Auburn University with his sister. Of course, Robin and Jenni's living arrangements won't be affected since they're already away at college and are planning to stay there for the summer. Robin is still enjoying life at Auburn, and Jenni is doing well at Palm Beach Junior College.
I have really loved all of Bob's family. Y'all have been my family, too. But I guess it's only natural the ties we had will change when he and I are no longer a couple. I'm sure I'll stay close with you and with my sweet brother-in-law. Dave and Dorothy are really special to me. I remember how Bob and I couldn't wait to introduce those two. They fell in love, just as we were sure they would, and they're still so happy together. I'm sorry Bob and I couldn't be as fortunate.
I'll see you in April. I love you.
Pat
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About the Book
After 24 years of marriage, Pat and her husband decide to divorce. With three children in college and one in elementary school, the family strives to remain close while being geographically scattered.
Pat’s challenge is to survive on her own after being a full-time mother and homemaker. She becomes a professional nanny/executive home manager, which takes her into the homes of prominent people with unusual, exciting lives.
For years, Pat has felt something is missing. Now in her mid-40s, she begins taking college classes, writing, traveling and attending self-growth seminars to seek spiritual guidance and inner peace. Ironically, in the midst of her searching, she remains a solid anchor for everyone around her.
While she looks for answers, Pat begins to realize life isn’t all about a golden prize of wisdom at the end of a rainbow, it’s about learning as we navigate through both sunshine and storms.
Through it all, she continues keeping a daily journal and saving letters written to and by her family members, a tradition her mother started decades before. Literature of Life is a true story told through these documents and is the second book in a series that started with Legacy of Letters.
About the Author
After enjoying motherhood while raising four children, Patsy Gilbert Coleman launched a career as a professional nanny and executive home manager. Born in rural Mississippi, Pat began developing her writing talents at an early age, eventually dedicating herself to her longtime dream of becoming an author. A collection of letters saved throughout the years has helped her chronicle her family’s history in a series of books. Pat lives in Winter Park, Florida, where she continues to write when she’s not reading, singing, ballroom dancing, seeing friends or spending as much time as possible with her nine grandchildren.