In early August of 1941, a young man wandered across the dance floor, never taking his eyes off the pretty girl on the other side. She took the hand he offered, and they danced. Before the music ended that night, Beth and Will were in love. It was an effortless romance and within three months they knew they would like a church wedding and a big family. Then, World War II hijacked their life.
The war was the first blow in a barrage of devastating events that nearly impoverished them, sent death knocking, separated them from their children, and ripped away their peace. Beth tethered herself to sanity for the sake of her children, despite the immense challenge. Although he told no one for decades, those events stole Will's dreams and relegated him to half the life he'd hoped for, leading to the losses and humiliation of alcoholism.
At casual glance, this might seem like the story of catastrophic inattention, bad luck, and abject betrayal, resulting in unrelenting struggle. Beneath that half-truth is a story of the kind of love that survives thanks to an awkward, flawed, yet infinite capacity for forgiveness and perseverance. Their love was rewarded with the kind of comfort and companionship reserved for one that endures until its natural end. Their love was one that left a legacy to its heirs of tenaciousness, resilience, and strength.