She Forgave
As blind dates go, it was a good one. The year was 1950, and some friends figured that 20-year-old Grace Miltenberger might like their fellow Marine, Bob. They were right. “I thought he was the most handsome man in the world, and I fell right in love with him,” she says. It was mutual.
They dated happily for almost a year, then Bob up and disappeared. No calls, no visits and, most maddeningly, no explanations.
Not one to wallow, Grace enlisted in the Marines. Four years later, she and Bob hooked up again. Neither remembers the exact circumstances, but Grace does recall, “I still loved him.” And after a few months, her finger sported a big, fat diamond engagement ring.
Then it happened again. In October 1954, she got a call from Bob saying he couldn’t go through with it. No reason given; he just couldn’t do it.
“The not knowing why is what hurt the most,” says Grace.
As before, she collected herself. In 1958 she married another man, and over the years, the couple had five daughters. But the marriage was an unhappy one, and adding to Grace’s anxiety was a secret she kept from her husband. Taped to the underside of a dresser drawer was the engagement ring Bob had given her. After what he put her through, most people might have pawned it or tossed it in a river. But not Grace. “I never stopped loving him,” she says.
When her faltering marriage dissolved in 1969, Grace devoted herself to her daughters and to getting degrees in sociology and nursing. Fast-forward to 2004. The phone rings. A voice says, “Gracie?” “I threw the phone in the air and said, ‘Oh, my God. It’s Bob.’” He’d called under the pretense of finding out where the guy who’d introduced them was buried. Three and a half hours later, they hung up. During their chat, Grace learned that Bob was a widower after 48 years of marriage. “I never figured out what happened to us,” he said at one point. “I’ll tell you what happened—you dumped me.” But she wasn’t mad. She was thrilled to be talking to him.
On New Year’s Day, 2005, they became engaged over the phone. Six months later, Bob visited Grace at her home outside Tulsa. It was the first time they’d seen each other in half a century. He showed up at her doorstep, and, she says, “we just walked into each other’s arms like we’d always been together.” On the day he popped the question, Bob said, “Now I guess I’ve got to get you a ring.” “No,” she said. “I’ve got one.” “Who gave you that?” “You did, you big, dumb jerk. Fifty years ago.”
This time, Bob didn’t run away.
They dated happily for almost a year, then Bob up and disappeared. No calls, no visits and, most maddeningly, no explanations.
Not one to wallow, Grace enlisted in the Marines. Four years later, she and Bob hooked up again. Neither remembers the exact circumstances, but Grace does recall, “I still loved him.” And after a few months, her finger sported a big, fat diamond engagement ring.
Then it happened again. In October 1954, she got a call from Bob saying he couldn’t go through with it. No reason given; he just couldn’t do it.
“The not knowing why is what hurt the most,” says Grace.
As before, she collected herself. In 1958 she married another man, and over the years, the couple had five daughters. But the marriage was an unhappy one, and adding to Grace’s anxiety was a secret she kept from her husband. Taped to the underside of a dresser drawer was the engagement ring Bob had given her. After what he put her through, most people might have pawned it or tossed it in a river. But not Grace. “I never stopped loving him,” she says.
When her faltering marriage dissolved in 1969, Grace devoted herself to her daughters and to getting degrees in sociology and nursing. Fast-forward to 2004. The phone rings. A voice says, “Gracie?” “I threw the phone in the air and said, ‘Oh, my God. It’s Bob.’” He’d called under the pretense of finding out where the guy who’d introduced them was buried. Three and a half hours later, they hung up. During their chat, Grace learned that Bob was a widower after 48 years of marriage. “I never figured out what happened to us,” he said at one point. “I’ll tell you what happened—you dumped me.” But she wasn’t mad. She was thrilled to be talking to him.
On New Year’s Day, 2005, they became engaged over the phone. Six months later, Bob visited Grace at her home outside Tulsa. It was the first time they’d seen each other in half a century. He showed up at her doorstep, and, she says, “we just walked into each other’s arms like we’d always been together.” On the day he popped the question, Bob said, “Now I guess I’ve got to get you a ring.” “No,” she said. “I’ve got one.” “Who gave you that?” “You did, you big, dumb jerk. Fifty years ago.”
This time, Bob didn’t run away.
