Shortly after Kenny Ryals and I married in May of 1992, he boxed up some paperwork he said he wanted to keep. I didn’t pay too much attention, since Kenny was ALWAYS writing down information from his car-detailing business.
A few weeks after his death, I tackled the tough job of sorting through his things to decide what to keep and what to donate. When I got to the boxes of paperwork he’d stacked in a corner of the garage, I stopped.
First I found a composition book Kenny had started back in 1989. Then I found four legal pads, covered with his careful handwriting, and another composition book.
As I pieced Kenny’s journals together chronologically, at first my heart ached. I read his impassioned words from 1989 to the recently departed Lucille, his first wife, lamenting how he didn’t know if he himself could keep on living without her. One particularly haunting line read, “Anyone who ever reads this and has not lost a loved one will not understand.”
Through the years, each new day brought back old memories and new pain, with the holidays being particularly devastating. I forced myself to keep reading, though, and learned that Kenny eventually began writing down his thoughts about me, and how I was starting to shift from a “friend” to someone he loved.
I was completely mesmerized and dumbfounded.
Looking back maybe I shouldn’t have been quite so surprised. My Kenny was the kind of man who let me know he loved me every single day.
If he’d left for work before I woke up, I’d discover a note bidding me a lovely good morning on a yellow paper stuck to my pillow. There’d be another one attached to the bathroom mirror, telling me how beautiful I was. A third on the refrigerator reminded me how much he loved me. Each little piece of paper, whether it had his words or little pictures of hearts and stars, was more precious to me than gold. I’ve saved them all.
So now you have a little background about the remarkable man who wrote these journals you’re about to read. I’ll let Kenny take the story from here:
September 4, 1990
Angel My Angel – I see you in the moon light. I see you in the trees. But is it possible to love just a dream?
Well Sweetheart, here it is Monday night 9:30. I am sitting here thinking of you. Soon it will be a year. I can’t believe I have lasted this long without you. I love you and miss you so much everyday.
Honey I did something this past weekend which I felt guilty about but so help me I did not mean anything. I was just trying to do something to lift up my feelings. Honey it felt good having someone around. Margaret just sat and talked here at the table in the dining room from 3:00 until 7:00. Then we went and got supper at Captain D’s. Came back, and we ate then talked until 9:30. Then she had to go. But you know a man came to pick up his truck. I went outside and helped him get his truck out of the yard. When I came back in Margaret was sitting at the dining room table where I had left her. But when I opened the front door and walked in for just a second I saw you sitting there. It really felt good.
Sweetheart, Margaret is nice lady. Very kind and nice looking but she ain’t you. I am spoiled. When someone like me has had a Lucille then there is no one else. By the way that grandson of yours, Wayne Waters, was a year old today. It’s funny but every time I see him I see some of you somehow. Please Sweetheart -- pray for me.
Sweetheart I am very lonely without you. I told Kim last night if I could be sure I would see you again I would be better off dead by far. I love you.
I think Mom and brother are coming up today and going back tomorrow. Sweetheart I wish you were here to talk to me to tell me what to do. Like always I need to talk to you about my job. I think I am going to quit Coca-Cola. The work is getting too hard. Plus the new people are too hard to work for. Since there is no one but me I think I can make it in the shop.
November 5, 1990
Lucille is my special angel.
Well Sweetheart it’s been over a year now and I am missing you more everyday. I have tried to put other things in my mind. So far nothing has worked. Sometimes I think maybe I need a girlfriend but then I think, no, it is not fair to mess up someone else’s life when it would not work. I love Lucille -- that will always be.
Sometimes I think maybe tonight or tomorrow I will die and get out of this world. Then I look at your picture on the table in front of me and say, girl -- you are smiling. I can hear you saying, “Kenny, somebody is feeling sorry for himself!” I put your picture in the paper on your birthday and that Tuesday night, October 23, a Mrs. Harris called. She knew you from church and she felt like I do about you. She said the same thing that I had told you so many times. That you were very special, that what you had came from the inside. She said God had called you because he had a special job for you to do and I said He had chosen the very best.
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