Sunday, January 27, 2013

Of Anthem & St. Augustine

Dear John,
 
God bless health insurance! Yes, I really said that. And no, I haven't sustained a blow to the head. We paid out $10,000 last year in bills and health insurance premiums. Out of curiosity, I totaled up what Anthem paid, and it's over $1,300,000. That's with some bills outstanding, and with Anthem's negotiated discount with the providers. So I suppose we got a good deal - $130 on the dollar.

And I'm very thankful for one provision of the new health care legislation: the part that outlawed the lifetime cap. The most generous cap we ever had was $1 million. Our health care would have run out in February. And that would mean that COBRA wouldn't be available to me now.

And the moral of that is: I suppose last year could have been worse. That's a frightening thought.

You worried about me being okay financially without you, and I appreciate all you did to try to take care of me. I'm not solvent yet, but am less unsolvent than I was. Especially with my fibromyalgia, you wanted to be here to take care of me. I was afraid to be financially on my own, too, but now I'm finding that I really don't care about that. It's all the other ways that I'm without you that matter. You did your best to protect me financially, and I appreciate it.

Somehow you always seemed to know when I wanted you to be protective and when I didn't. I know there were times that it was hard not to rush to my rescue. I remember that evening when we were at John and Adela's house with another student and his wife, and I said something negative about St. Augustine's theology. I had no idea Adela had done her dissertation on him. The other student thought you should rescue me, but I neither needed nor wanted it. I could hold my own quite well, and Adela and I had a good debate and both enjoyed it very much. We both understood St. Augustine, but we evaluated him from completely different ecclesiologies, so we respected and understood each other's positions. You never came to my intellectual rescue, and I thank you for that. But then, if I'd wanted you to do that, you wouldn't have married me in the first place.

You wanted a wife that was your intellectal equal. I don't know that I was that, but you treated me as if I was. And we were good intellectual partners, weren't we? After all, how many people can I talk to about both semipermeable membranes and the filioque? I miss your intellectual companionship. When I look at this photo, I imagine that's what you're saying to me now. And it feels good to still have you looking out for me. By the way, did I ever tell you that I adore you? I may have mentioned it once or twice.

Love you, adore you, and will not be torn apart from you,
Joan.








 

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