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Murder of Julia Martha Thomas
Pages and cover are clean and intact. Used items may not include supplementary materials such as CDs or access codes. May show signs of minor shelf wear and contain limited notes and highlighting. Condition: Brand New. In Stock. What it felt like to stand at the deathbed of my almost-ex-husband, with his girlfriend at my side. I was visiting my mom at her assisted living facility the other day, and chatting with the woman at the front desk. We talked about the traffic and my long drive home and I let it drop that I might want to sell my car.
I sensed she might want to buy. It would have nothing to do with cars. How awful to lose your husband so young! Her reaction — a sympathetic, well-meaning expression of compassion, pity and shock — was typical. But no matter how often I hear it, it still makes me uncomfortable. I was widowed on a technicality; my husband died while we were getting divorced. Being widowed while divorcing means sneaking into the widow club through the back door, without paying the usual price of admission: raging soul-crushing grief. Yet even as our relationship deteriorated, we connected in bed, and more than physically.
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For some reason at night he opened his heart to me. Yet each morning with the predictability of sunrise, our problems returned with a thud. When we finally parted ways, it came as a relief. There was no legal separation, just my insistence to remain amicable and settle out of court. Reaching a settlement proved elusive and frustrating, but we did manage to remain amicable.
He eventually moved in with his girlfriend Sharon, a pretty, petite single mom nearly my age, just a few years younger than Mark.
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She was. I liked her. When he had a heart attack on a humid Sunday evening in late July, two years into our split, it was Sharon who was with him. It was Sharon who called to tell me.
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He was comatose, the prognosis grim. When the kids and I arrived, a bored-looking ER attendant escorted us into a small, empty waiting room. With his final breath, I went from almost-ex to widow. So I created one. His funeral would feature eulogies from widow and girlfriend. I went from divorce attorney to estate attorney. Say it often enough and you start to wonder if you were ever getting divorced in the first place. More often than not, I do. But it makes me feel better. We humans are far more complex than the news headlines and clickbait would have you believe.
Date with a Ghost
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Send us a story tip. Become a Patron. Follow us. My dad was one of the only people with a good-for-life, go-anywhere American Airlines pass. Then they took it away. This is the true story of having—and losing—a superpower. O n March 10, , a case was filed in the U.
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Rothstein v. American Airlines, Inc. For my father, it was a last-ditch effort to save his life. In the early s, American rolled out AAirpass, a prepaid membership program that let very frequent flyers purchase discounted tickets by locking in a certain number of annual miles they presumed they might fly in advance.
My something-year-old father, having been a frequent flyer for his entire life, purchased one. In , amidst a lucrative year as a Bear Stearns stockbroker, my father became one of only a few dozen people on earth to purchase an unlimited, lifetime AAirpass. A quarter of a million dollars gave him access to fly first class anywhere in the world on American for the rest of his life. He flew so much it paid for itself. Other times, I remember calling his office to find out what country he was in.
For several years, the revenues department at American had been monitoring my father and other AAirpass holders to see how much their golden tickets were costing the airline in lost revenue. My father was one of several lifetime, unlimited AAirpass holders American claimed had breached their contracts. A few months later, my father sued American for breaking their deal, and more importantly, taking away something integral to who he was.