The most aggravating thing about him is that he was one of those men who only got better looking the older he got.  He started out good looking enough for anyone to be, tall, lean, with fine hair and a beautiful face.  He was so good looking that women were always hitting on him, only he wasn't interested.  It confused everyone, he seemed totally straight.   I figured he was beyond hoping for.  The day he asked me if I'd accompany him I thought all he wanted me for was my sight reading ability.  He had a mustache, not exactly to my taste but it suited him.  As my hair was turning steel gray his turned, first, salt and pepper then pure white, his mustache too.  My only consolation was that his thinned out a bit.  He liked that mine had only changed its color.  I was never nearly good looking enough for him but I think he loved me for my chord spelling, by then.

We didn't play together a lot, we played different kinds of music but it was always fun when we did.  He certainly made more money from playing than I ever did.  I drew the line at singer-songwriter stuff.  “I will not play a song with the word “coping” in the lyrics”.   He laughed.

We never lived together, he wanted to have his own place.  He taught school.  It would have been a lot more awkward back then, even if I'd lived in town with him.  He was uneasy about meeting my family “How many did you say there are?”  Farm life wouldn't have suited him, anyway. It was never an ideal situation but we stayed together a lot longer than other people did.  He knew I insisted on him being faithful, he did too.   We buried too many friends, too young.  The time he told me I was his only lover,  I believed him, not because he didn't get chances – did he ever -  and certainly not because of my looks, but because he'd have told me if I hadn't been.  He was honest.   He didn't drink.  He was a good musician.  He was a quiet, decent man.

It was entirely unexpected. I loved him and I'll miss him till I die too.