A love letter to my wife Deborah

It was a Friday, late in the day, when I walked into your office and brazenly asked you on a date.

“Sure!” you said, then wrote out your phone number on a sticky note, with your name in case I’d forget: Deb.

And so, our story began.

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Not the way I thought. Here, I thought you giving me your phone number meant you actually, you know, wanted to date me. Turns out that was just a stalling tactic that had worked so well before, that you figured I’d eventually move on.

I didn’t.

I chased you from February 2009 to July. You started to turn my way after our stint at the county fair Chronicle booth. Our banter came easy and relaxed. You had a keen interest in Citrus County politics and enjoyed hearing some of the back stories. You said I was the first man to hold your interest.

When that evening ended, I was sure we’d be dating in no time. Think again.

You still resisted, but I wore you down. Finally, on July 13, a week after my third sober anniversary, we had our first kiss. Or, as you like to say, our LAST first kiss.

My, what a fun girlfriend you were. We went everywhere together. Community events, Rays games, Cedar Key. That trip to Michigan, where we scraped the tire in my dad’s driveway, causing a black mark that became the family mystery all weekend, is a classic that we laughed over time and again.

That trip also produced an incredible memory that I owe to you. We visited the cemetery where Mom is buried. We were both standing there, I never knew what to say.

“Hi Mom. This is Deb. You’d like her.”

Then you said: “You know she’s not here.”

I looked up and you repeated it: “She’s not here. She’s with the Lord.”

I knew that but no one had ever said it to me before.

“Why don’t we sit here on the grass and you tell me about your mom,” Deb said.

And that’s what we did. It was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life and I owe it all to you.

See, that’s the deal, Deb. It was your heart, your kindness, that drew me in. Sure, you’re gorgeous and that helped. I always felt warm and inviting with you.

Then came the engagement. I worked out a ruse with Gerry Mulligan at the company Christmas party, and you fell right into it. From that moment came Mike Pate’s iconic snapshot of our embrace, your face the look of sheer joy, me the proud guy. 

Well, we got married. Dec. 18, 2015. That was very cool. In the Chronicle lobby, Gerry Mulligan “walking” you down the aisle, Ray Cortese saying we’d need to love one another even when he hated each other. I had no clue what he meant. We would understand those prophetic words much later.

We had one of those fairy tale marriages that people brag about. Those first five years were golden. We were crazy in love with one another.

And then…it happened. No need to go over it now. Nobody did anything wrong. Just a set of circumstances that we could not figure out on our own, and our fairy tale marriage slid slowly into turmoil. No one could help us. The day you left for Citrus Springs, I cried and cried.

We toughed it out separated for two years. It wasn’t easy. We each had to make over-the-top efforts to keep the glue together. There were many, many difficult moments for us both.

Then you came back, and life was peas and carrots again. I sensed, though, that you were still not totally comfortable. We moved from the cabin to the lake house, and five months later, we were separated again.

Divorce seemed imminent. I mean…if we’re not living together, why be married? Well, here’s why: You wanted to stay married. That was good enough for me. If we’re still married, there is always the chance of something good.

That had its challenges as well, and when I had this latest move from the lake house to the cottage, I was crushed when you didn’t want to come with me. You were comfortable in Citrus Springs, and I couldn’t argue with that. You and your little doggy, Max, had created a nice cozy home.

And then, just a month ago, we had a conversation that set everything right. We finally reached a place where we didn’t need anyone to label us or our marriage. We would always be there for one another, always be the other’s best friend, and that would never ever change.

Finally, we were again at a place of peace and understanding in our marriage. We loved each other once again. Without reservations. You, especially. There was a lot more grace and forgiveness coming from you toward me than the other way around. You were always that way.

Then came a few days ago. We won’t rehash the whole thing. The transplant center called, and you and David drove to the hospital in Largo for the kidney transplant that would revive your life. We talked by phone twice, prayed deeply, and sent texts back and forth.

The last thing you whispered into the phone was that this transplant would give us a new start.

Your final words in text: “I love you and will call or text as soon as I can!”

It was David who called. I rushed to the hospital. I stayed for two hours as doctors told us the next 24 to 48 hours would be crucial.

I didn't have my Bible, so I pulled out my phone to Psalm 40, our psalm (“He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”) I mouthed it quietly so that only I could hear it. I begged God to protect you.

And now you’re gone. And I am destroyed.

I know you wouldn’t want that for me. I know you’d tell me to take care of myself, don’t worry what others think, and give my heart to Jesus for him to heal. I’m doing that Deb, to the best of my ability. It’s very difficult. 

I miss you so, so much. Those eyes, that smile. Yours was the only New York accent I could stomach. I’m sorry our fairy tale marriage met an uncomfortable reality, and I’m sorry for the pain I caused over the years. I’m so grateful we came to an understanding, and the last six weeks were some of the best our marriage ever had. Separate but loving.

You knew all my crap and loved me anyway. You carried my secrets and endured my attitude. You remained hopeful that we still had magic that hadn’t yet been discovered. You were so optimistic about us, about me. You encouraged me to take on Just Wright Citrus, and said this blog would be my voice and mine alone.

OK, sweetie, this is a pretty long note, and I really should wrap it up. Let me close with this.

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my partner, especially during the very difficult times. Thank you for encouraging me with prayer and Scripture. Thank you for making me laugh time and again. Thank you for Times Square, Minneapolis, St. Petersburg, and Savannah. Thank you for rubbing my back and giving spontaneous hugs.

Thank you for that look you gave me that said, “You’re my guy and I love you!”

You are resting in Our Father’s house. I know he is preparing a room for me as well. I’ll just have to wait on his timing. Save me a good spot.

I have done much wrong in my life. Falling hard for you isn’t one of them. I love you so much.

You will always be my Deb. Death has parted us. But not for long.

— Services for Deborah Kamlot-Wright are 1 p.m. Thursday, Oct. 30 at Seven Rivers Church, 4221 W. Gulf to Lake Hwy., Lecanto, with the Rev. Ray Cortese officiating.

— Just Wright Citrus will be on hiatus this week in Deb’s memory. As for after that, guess we’ll see.

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