Sixty years after burying a high school time capsule, the shy boy who never asked me out handed me the unopened letter he’d written in 1965 and whispered, “I just hope I’m not sixty years too late.”
At seventy-eight years old, I believed life had already given me every important surprise it intended to. I’d been married for fifty-three years. Loved deeply. Lost deeply. Buried my husband, …
Sixty years after burying a high school time capsule, the shy boy who never asked me out handed me the unopened letter he’d written in 1965 and whispered, “I just hope I’m not sixty years too late.” Read More
