I could just slap you right now. 40 years in prison. You spent 40 years in prison. I spent a lifetime waiting on you. I know where you were. Was it worth it?

In 1957, 2 months before I was born, you moved to this state. That's never been lost on me. We were married the day I was born; you were here 2 months before I arrived.

I always knew I was waiting for something special. Something real. And I ended up waiting for 50 long, grueling years.

When my parents were aging, and my aunt's house was sitting vacant, I had a dream. Part of the house tore loose and fell. After that, I couldn't go there and be close to them in their final years. That was for you. I wouldn't have met you if I'd moved.

I met you when I was 50. If you'd listened to your sister Edna, I'd have met you 20 or 30 years earlier. We had 4 years. Even tonight, when I'm angry with you for the loss of those years, I love you. When I heard about your younger years, and you'd said you wished we'd met earlier, I knew we wouldn't have gotten along when you were doing what you did.

You should have listened to Edna.