Hello, everyone. My grandson told me I should post my story online. Apparently, being 67 years old is some kind of "meme" these days. I don't really understand what that means, but here I am. I was born on March 8, 1959, in Nebraska, into a simple farming family. My mother left my father, my younger sister, and me when I was only four years old. For years, I didn't understand why. I loved her and believed she was simply away at work. One night, when I was a little over eight years old, my father came home drunk and angry. I don't remember why I chose that moment to ask, but I looked at him and said, "Dad, when is Mom coming back?" He stared at me for a long moment before shouting words I will never forget. "Your mother left us. She chose another life." Then he broke down crying, hugged me, and told me things no child should ever hear. That night changed me. As the years passed, I became angry. I fought other kids for no reason. I got into tr...
We were having a rough patch, but I never could’ve imagined in a million years that it would end like this. I remember when I used to look at her and see love looking back. True, unbridled love that kept me comfortable and secure. All I can say is I wish that she would’ve changed sooner. I wish that she didn’t wait until we had spent 20 years of our life together. Because now, I feel hopeless. I’m 52 years old. There’s no turning back the clocks. There’s no hoping she falls back in love with me. She hates what age has done to me. She hates that I’m losing my hair. She hates the way my face is starting to sag. And because she has learned to hate my appearance, it’s made it harder for her to look past my personality flaws. My irritability. My lack of energy. My lack of libido. I’d lost my ability to “woo” her more and more with each passing year. When her shoulder grew cold, all I could blame was myself. When our conversations became dry, all I could do was blame myself. And when she st...