I’m always reminded how much I loved Janet; every now and then I come across something that reminds me how much she loved me.
Before all this cancer crap entered our lives, Janet bought a new computer for my little corner of the bedroom where I write my stories. For some reason I had never set it up before we became preoccupied with chemotherapy sessions. Well, yes, I do know why. Installing a new computer meant saving and transferring files which were going to be a big headache.
A couple of weeks ago, the old computer finally gave up the ghost, never to light its screen again. The only thing to do with it was to take it to the special stall at the county dump reserved for old electronics to be properly disposed without endangering the environment.
With a deep sigh I took the new computer out of its box and begrudgingly began to follow the user manual on how to stick all the wires in the right place. Theoretically it was not new anymore but that is quibbling over details to avoid the inevitable. I was relieved to find the process relatively painless. The pictures that were lost in the transfer were ones that should have been deleted anyway.
The only problem came when I tried to bring up my e-mail account. I was stuck when I was supposed to enter my password. It had been saved on the old computer so I didn’t have to remember it. Janet kept all the codes in a little blue book. Under e-mail account she had listed several passwords we had used over the years, but none of them worked now.
I decided I had to start with a new account. But even to do that I had to answer a few select questions to prove I was who I said I was. One of them was “Who is your favorite author?” I typed in John Steinbeck. I have read all his books except Travels with Charlie. I just couldn’t imagine the man who wrote Grapes of Wrath riding around the country with his pet poodle.
The computer said I was wrong. John Steinbeck was not my favorite author. Try again. I was stuck. I was sure I would have answered Steinbeck if asked for my favorite author. I was about to accept the fact the only way I would be able to access my e-mail account would be through my smart phone.
Then I remembered I didn’t set up the e-mail account; Janet did. She was the one who typed in who her favorite author was. I thought about it a moment and then typed in the following name:
Jerry Cowling
All of a sudden all the computer gave me a number for my new password. I typed in the number, and my e-mails popped up. A whole lot of them.
I don’t think I was really was Janet’s favorite author. I think she preferred to read this one guy who wrote about Biblical archaeology. But it made sense that if she had to write down who her favorite author was, it would be me.
Because she loved me, and I was her favorite everything.
Suddenly I’m missing her more and more.