Real Love

My teacher told me the story of her real love today. I know it's worth telling other people; so here it is.

Today in French class, our teacher told us the story of her first husband.
She told us how, when they met, he was the ugliest man she'd ever seen.
She told us how he was big, black, and angry.
She told us how they sat down and talked.
She explained that when they finished talking, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen.
Then she told us how her mother offered to send her to Europe for a year for free, as long as she didn't marry that big, black man.
Our teacher then said that she became that man's wife.
They were deeply in love, even though they were nothing alike.
She was an educated, small, non-confrontational, white woman.
He was an uneducated, big, confrontational, black man.
They had a couple children together.
They were inseparable.
She was always in the same room as he was, no matter what.
One day when he was in the bathroom getting ready to go to work, they were 'playing the lover's game'.
He asked her if she loved him; usually she'd say, "Of course I love you."
But that day, she said something different.
She said, "John, if you died tomorrow, I'd always love you. No matter what."
He smiled and grabbed an old t-shirt.
He asked if she thought he should wear it to work.
She said yes, only because he always got dirty at work; it was her favorite shirt of his, too.
He left to go to work that night, and she sat on the porch of the second-floor apartment.
She watched him drive away, just like she did every night.
The thought that it'd be the last time she ever saw her true love alive again never even crossed her mind.
But, surely enough, it was.
The next morning, on his way home from work, a drunk driver hit his car.
The high-impact collision ripped apart his clothes and smashed his car.
He died almost instantly.
At this part of her story, she stopped.
She walked over to a cabinet in the classroom and pulled out a red leather bag.
She set the bag on a desk and removed its contents.
There were the shoes, shirt, and pants her husband had been wearing the day he was killed.
They were torn and blood was splattered all over them.
She continued with her story.
She said that at the funeral she only stared at him the entire time.
She only sat there and stared.
While she was staring, she thought only one thing.
John is dead. John will always be dead.
She concentrated on what he looked like, so she'd never forget.
She told us that he is the only thing she sees now.
She sees him when she wakes up.
She sees him during the day.
She sees him when she goes to sleep.
Even though it's been nearly 30 years since he died & she's on her third marriage, she'll always see John.
The image of him will never be erased from her mind.
I then thought to myself, This is real love.
She told us that whatever we thought love was, it wasn't.
She told us that there is a real love waiting for every one of us out there.
She told us that what she and John had was real love.
I doubt I will ever forget my teacher's story of her real love.