All There Is

by Dave Isay

  Robert: Seventy. That’s not old. That’s how old I am.

  Jo Ann: Yeah, but you weren’t then. But here we are, still together.

  Robert: And you’re still ten years older. Does that bother you today?

  Jo Ann: It bothers me that I’m as I am. I don’t want to be a burden . . .

  Robert: The diagnosis of Alzheimer’s—

  Jo Ann: —is not pretty. I had hoped that I’d just fade off and you wouldn’t have to take care of me. I’m sad, just not having control of my thoughts and my actions, and knowing what’s going to be. I don’t think it’s fair to you. We still go to dances, and we can do things, but I don’t want to be an ugly lady that’s lost her head.

  Robert: You’ll never be an ugly lady, sweetheart.

  Jo Ann: But you could have some cute little chick that you could be running around with ten years younger.

  Robert: I have my princess right now.

  Jo Ann: Oh, you’re wonderful.

  Robert: You know I still love you, more than ever. I tell you that every night. I think the feelings that I have are pretty close to the feelings that I had when we first met—probably stronger. It is my wish to care for you. Eleven years ago I said that, and I’m still saying that: It is my wish to care for you. But more than that, my life is yours.

  Recorded in Little Rock, Arkansas, on October 17, 2006.

  LISA ANN COMBEST, 46, talks to JAMES HANSON-BROWN, 47

  Lisa Ann Combest: We got married January 11, 1986, the year I graduated from college. I remember the minister who married us was, like, “You guys are the best-matched couple I’ve ever talked to! You’re going to be married forever.” And I was, like, Of course we are! You know? But I guess we were in our marriage for about a year when I started thinking that something was wrong. It was all our friends could do to keep their hands off of each other, and I wanted to be physical with you, but you were kind of, like, No, not today. I have a headache.

  So when did you start to realize that our relationship really wasn’t what you needed?

  James Hanson-Brown: Probably about three or four years in. I realized that I was gay just a little bit after my parents passed away. My mother had somewhat suspected I was gay, and she wasn’t supportive. Her idea was basically that gays should be rounded up and put on their own little island and left to die.

  Lisa: East Texas; that’s not the most wonderful place to come out.

  James: Yeah, it’s definitely not the San Francisco of the South. I guess it all just built up to one night, when I kind of had this realization: Oh my God, I’m gay. And part of me was, like, No, this can’t be, because I love Lisa, so evidently I’m wrong. But of course I knew I wasn’t.

  Up until that point I had been lying to myself, and from that point on I was lying to the one person that I would never lie to. That got to be a little too much. So for that year I was probably the worst person to live with.

  Lisa: The weekend that you came out, you sat with me on the couch, and you’re, like, “I have to talk to you.” I remember I said, “Oh good,” because I knew something was going on, and I’d been begging you to tell me what was wrong. And when you told me, I thought to myself, Oh is that all? [Laughs.] At that point it was a relief to me, because I had been thinking that there was something wrong with me the whole time, and I was wondering what I’d done.

  Then you said that you were going to go away for the weekend and let me think. You came back home, and I remember telling you I didn’t care if you were gay—I loved you. I wanted to stay in the relationship with you, but you were pretty adamant about not doing that.

  I think it was six years before I dated anyone else, and then I went through my dating-everybody-in-Houston phase. I guess the same thing that people in their early twenties go through, I went through it in my early thirties—the wildness, the staying out all night and everything.

  Do you remember what you said to me right after I had met Todd? You said you wished that I would allow myself to be loved like I deserved. And so Todd owes you a debt of thanks, because that was when I let myself realize that he was the guy that I wanted to marry.

  I think I’m a better person from everything that I’ve gone through with our breakup. I know the depths that I can go to and still come out, and I think that’s a really great gift. So one of the things that I want to say to you is: Thank you for having the courage to be honest with yourself and with me, and for giving us the life that we deserve.

  James: We’ve never really untangled our lives. We’ve always been there for each other, through everything. We are best friends, and if people don’t get it, I feel sorry for them. You have to have someone like that in your life to understand it, someone that you can completely count on in any situation and that you completely love and know that they completely love you. Just in this case, it doesn’t happen to be my wife. It happens to be my best friend.

  Recorded in Houston, Texas, on December 11, 2009.

  RON MILLER, 61, talks with his wife, PEPPER MILLER, 57

  Ron Miller: Pepper would describe me as a ladies’ man, and I was. Twenty-five years ago, I knew a lot of women, I dated a lot of women, and most of the relationships were fairly shallow. But my conversations with you weren’t shallow.

  Pepper Miller: I can’t pinpoint when I fell in love with you, but I remember one time you left a message on the answering machine: “Hi, this is Ron. Just checking on you, baby.” I absolutely loved that. I remember saving that message on the machine, and I would play it and play it. That did it for me. But when you first broached the subject of marriage, I was, like, “I can’t marry you.”

  Ron: But I didn’t quit.

  Pepper: No you didn’t, thank God. We had a big wedding, and it was exciting. Walking down the aisle as Pepper Hunter and coming back down the aisle as Pepper Miller, that was a little startling. But I got into it; I enjoyed being Pepper Miller. We had a good life.

  But things changed, and I began to feel like our marriage was all about you, and I wanted it to be about me too. So we got divorced. It was painful. We went to the same church, and you moved to the other side of the church. I felt like giving you the finger several times, but then I moved on. You dated people, and I dated people.

  Ron: I poured myself into my work. But it was hard; I missed you.

  Pepper: I missed you too. I did. Remember when you called me and you had the flu? I came and made you some soup. After tucking you in, I remember smelling your cologne on me. I missed the smell of your cologne. It’s those little things that you miss.

  I would call my girlfriend and say, So and so is a really nice guy, and I have a good time with him, but . . . And my girlfriend said, “Well, the problem with this guy is he’s not Ron, and the problem with the other guy is he’s not Ron. . . .” I didn’t want to believe that. We were divorced: You had moved on, and I had moved on. Then my girlfriend said, “Don’t hold Ron hostage to the past.” When she said that I started crying, and she’s like, “If you don’t care about him, why are you crying?” Those words freed me to look at the possibility of us getting back together. I was, like, I’ve got to call him. So I called you, and we started talking. And you were just a sweetheart. We started dating, and it was good.

  Then I took my dad on a cruise. We were unpacking on the ship, and in my suitcase there was this long letter from you, asking me to marry you. It was just a pouring out of your heart. That was in August. In December, we were married.

  Ron: We were married eight years the first time, we were divorced five years, and this December it will be ten years we’ve been married again.

  Pepper: We still have our bumps, huh?

  Ron: Yeah. I guess we’ve learned that we’re always going to have our bumps, but there’s nobody that we’d rather be with than each other. The lesson is to hang tough and to do the necessary things to make it wo
rk.

  Pepper: And to continually be grateful. We have been through a lot together, but I’m still excited to be with you. And I’m always grateful when I can snuggle with you and smell that cologne.

  Recorded in Chicago, Illinois, on February 24, 2011.

  MARTHA WARD, 68, talks with her husband, FRANK ASERON, 65

  Martha Ward: In the middle seventies you and I were both in New Orleans, on our bikes with our kids strapped on the back, and we’d see each other around. I remember you had this incredible smile that lit up the world.

  Frank Aseron: Thirty years later, I saw you again at the green market.

  Martha: I had just gone to a voodoo priestess the day before for a reading, and she had told me that I was going to meet a sensitive, intelligent person, and I told her, “No way!” I’d been married. I was happily divorced, and I loved my life as it was—I was single forever—so I sort of laughed at her. But there you were, and you still had that incredible smile. You invited me to the ballet, and so I said, “Okay, let’s go out.”

  The first date was wonderful. But I told my daughter, “I don’t know what the rules are anymore.” And my daughter said, “Oh, Mom, there aren’t any rules anymore! Just enjoy yourself!” But the most important date for us was actually New Year’s Eve. At the end of the evening you asked me if I would kiss you.

  Frank: You said yes. And it was such a sweet kiss.

  Martha: And that was the night that we both decided: This is something special.

  Eight months later, August of 2005, was Katrina. I told you that my house was an ark, and I didn’t intend to leave.

  Frank: I remember I was at my house really early Sunday morning, boarding it up, and I happened to turn on the TV and saw that the hurricane was as big as the Gulf. I said to myself, What’s more important: finish boarding up my house and hope that the hurricane is not a Category 5, or just leave everything and get us out?

  Martha: You tricked me into leaving. You called my daughter in Houston, and you told her, “You’re the only person who your mother will listen to.” So she called me early that morning and said, “I want you to get out!” Just then you walked in, and you said, “Let’s leave.” I didn’t even make the bed. I just crammed some things in a suitcase, and I said, “Okay, we’ll leave.”

  You were so calm. You knew what to do. You took care of me, and you weren’t going to abandon me. I trusted you with my life.

  By Monday night it became obvious that the city had flooded and terrible things were happening. Then, Tuesday night we saw flooding in your neighborhood, and you realized that your house had water in it. Your response was so sweet and so genuine and loving. You said, “This hurts, but it’s just a house. The important things are not hurt; they are not wet.”

  And I thought, I’m going to marry him. So I put my arms around you, and I said, “We can live in my house; I know it’s safe. We’ll make it work, no matter what.”

  We moved back to New Orleans together six weeks later. We moved into my house that I determined never to share with another man. And then, in February, you asked me to marry you.

  Frank: I asked your daughter’s permission to propose to you, and she said, “My fear is that my mother’s going to tell you no.”

  Martha: Well, I had certainly told all the other men who asked me no. But I had secretly already decided to say yes, and you must have known that.

  You made reservations at Martinique restaurant with all of our family. And you got down on your knees and said, “Just think about it.” But I’d already thought about it. I had seen you when the chips were down. When there’s a terrible tragedy, you know what kind of person someone is. And so I said yes. It was the best decision I ever made. And I think we’d have blown it if Katrina hadn’t happened. I think you would have stayed a bachelor, and I would have stayed a spinster, and we would have stayed in our separate houses, and we wouldn’t have ever dared and braved and cleaned out enough stuff to make it work. [Laughs.]

  I could never have imagined anything as traumatic as Katrina, and I would never have imagined anything as wonderful and incredible as meeting you and finding you and keeping you.

  Recorded in New Orleans, Louisiana, on April 11, 2010.

  LAUREN WEITZMAN, 50, talks with her husband, STUART DRESCHER, 61

  Lauren Weitzman: I was thirty-five years old and living in Richmond, Virginia. There wasn’t anyone significant in my life, and somehow a lifelong partner didn’t seem to be in the cards for me; I was coming to peace with that. Then I bumped into an old friend at a conference. I started talking with him, but somebody else was standing there.

  Stuart Drescher: I don’t think that you looked at me once during the whole conversation, but I was fascinated by you. And when you walked away, I said, “I have to meet her.”

  Our friend said, “She usually goes to the social hours at the end of the afternoon presentations,” which I never participated in, but I showed up. And there I was, talking to you for the first time. There was this fascination with you that was almost magnetic. It felt like we’d known each other for a very, very long time.

  Lauren: I was a bit dismayed to realize that you were living in Salt Lake City. There was the excitement of just feeling really close and connected, but then we had to go our separate ways. And so we began this long-distance thing: I was in Richmond, Virginia, you were in Salt Lake City, and our airline carrier was Delta. So we’d either fly through Cincinnati or we’d fly through Atlanta. Somebody—I think it was me, you think it was you—decided that since we’re traveling through these airports, Wouldn’t it be fun to leave notes for each other that the person could find on their next way across?

  Stuart: We’d write a bit of poetry or some form of appreciation, or just a thought. Then we would fold them up and tuck them under a chair in the loading areas and send a map to the other person with the concourse and the gate area, and X marks the spot.

  Lauren: Although we’d only known each other for a few months at this point, it didn’t seem right to spend Thanksgiving apart. It was a wonderful holiday, and when I flew home I knew I wanted to leave you something. So as I was heading from Salt Lake to Cincinnati, the only thing I could think to put on the note was “Will you marry me?”

  I wasn’t ready to tell you about the note, but I was definitely ready to write it. It was probably the longest I ever sat with a decision. [Laughs.] But you’re a patient man, and in March I finally gave you a map to find the note.

  Stuart: I flew to Cincinnati, and my plane was delayed in landing. I found myself running down the concourse, hoping to get to the next plane in time. I was running at a pretty good clip, and all of a sudden I remembered the note. I was debating, Should I stop and risk my connection? But I had to see if I could grab that note. So I peeled into the gate area and identified which chair it was. There was a fellow sitting there, wearing a very expensive suit, and I walked over and said, “Excuse me, I think I dropped my pen when I was sitting here previously,” and I reached under the seat. I grabbed the note, took off running down the hallway, and got to the gate just before the door swung shut.

  Lauren: Back in Richmond, I was thinking: Would you find the note? What were you going to think when you got it? I ducked out of a faculty meeting early and drove out to the Richmond airport. I had a big bunch of flowers, and I felt just like a bride waiting for her groom.

  I still remember you walking off the plane, and the minute I saw you I knew you had found the note. You just had that glow. I had the bouquet of flowers, and we gave each other a big hug, and you said, “Yes!”

  Recorded in Salt Lake City, Utah, on April 19, 2009.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to Lizzie Jacobs, who pulled this book together with skill and grace. Her deft editorial eye and singular management skills helped shape every page of this book. Lizzie was ably assisted i
n her work by Isaac Kestenbaum and Nina Porzucki, with significant contributions from Kate Parvenski, Ebonie Ledbedder, Melina Moore, and Maya Millett. Gratitude to fact-checkers Beth Schwartzapfel and Darren Reidy, as well as to the Audio Transcription Center and Jennifer Kotter. Thanks also to Kathrina Proscia, an early reader of this book.

  We feel so fortunate to be published by Ann Godoff and represented by David Black. At the Penguin Press, sincere thanks also to Scott Moyers, Tracy Locke, Lindsay Whalen, and Liz Calamari.

  Most of all, profound thanks to the entire StoryCorps family—supporters, staff, interns, volunteers, partners, and participants. You give this work life.

  STORYCORPS IN BRIEF

  StoryCorps’ mission is to provide Americans of all backgrounds and beliefs with the opportunity to record, share, and preserve the stories of our lives. With a relentless focus on recording the stories of people who are often excluded from the historical record, StoryCorps captures lives that would otherwise be lost to history and reminds the nation that every story matters and every voice counts.

  Over the past eight years we’ve given 75,000 Americans the chance to record interviews about their lives, pass wisdom from one generation to the next, and leave a legacy for future generations through our archive at the Library of Congress. We also share edited excerpts of some interviews through weekly NPR broadcasts, animated shorts on POV, our website, podcasts, and books. We hope these stories illuminate our shared humanity and how much more we share in common than divides us.

  StoryCorps stories are recorded in three types of venues:

  our stationary StoryBooths, located in select cities across the nation;