***
Together.
Forty wonderful years of wedded bliss.
Forty amazing years of sharing our lives - as crazy and weird as they might be - with each other.
Forty years of love and support.
Scratch that last one. We've had more than forty years of love and support. We've had that nearly since the moment we met. And for that, I am speechlessly thankful. I don't know what I would have done without Lois in it. I don't like to even entertain the idea of thinking about what my life would have been like without her. How dark. How lonely. How completely miserable, worse than any of the sad years I spent traversing the globe, looking for my home. How I'm not sure if Clark would have faded away and been lost to Superman.
Together.
Lois' love has given me more than I can say. When I try, the sheer enormity of what I feel, what I know she's changed in the world for me...it renders me mute. My prowess as a wordsmith - a shaper of words and phrases by nature and by professional choice - fails me. Part of the problem, I think, stems from the fact that the traditional words used for describing love and happiness all fall woefully short of what I feel in my heart, my soul, in every molecule of my being.
These last forty years have changed me. They've made me the happiest I've ever been. Oh, I've always made the best out of whatever situation I've found myself in. Every obscure little village I visited in my quest to find where I belonged had some beauty to it, some truly wonderful inhabitants. Every major city had some intriguing facet to it. Every time I stepped onto the football field in high school and college, I got a rush of excitement and a wave of adrenaline that filled me almost to bursting. Every summer spent in the fields of my youth brings back memories of golden sunshine, bonding with my parents, working the soil so that it would yield nourishment.
But all of those times are tinged with sadness too, even if I do my best to push that to the side. Every village I landed in made me feel like an outsider as I scrambled to try and fit in as best I could. Every bustling city made me feel isolated, as if I were invisible in the midst of a great rushing sea of people that swirled around me. Every football game brought a strenuous, terrifying battle to keep firm control over my budding powers. Every summer spent in the farmlands I grew up in brought new and scary changes to my body as each year passed, even as far back as my early years, when I was just a toddler and my parents were discovering that I had not only an impressive memory but also the inability to be wounded by ordinary means. I knew, even then, that it should have put their minds at ease that I couldn't accidentally electrocute myself by sticking a fork in a socket, but it didn't. It put them on edge because, back then, we didn't understand why I was so different. Was there something medically wrong with me? Was it something that would alter or shorten my life? What would it mean for my future? How would we cover up my uniqueness?
I always felt so guilty, every time some new ability would manifest, turning our lives upside down. I always felt bad making my parents scramble to find new ways to help me and protect me. I always felt so afraid of my own self - never trusting myself not to do something that would endanger others...or myself. That was always my greatest fear. That somehow, I wouldn't be careful enough and that I would cause injury to someone, or that I would do something that would out myself as someone very different from the rest of humanity. One time, when I was a senior in high school, I accidentally crashed into one of my teammates on the football field. We were both going for the ball, both of us too occupied with the opposing players who were also rushing for the ball, to see each other. Four of us reached the ball at the same time and we collided. Alan broke his arm in two places. The doctor said that it was the way he hit the ground, but I blamed myself, and for weeks, I barely slept, my mind filled with phantom nightmares of government officials in lab coats finding out that I wasn't human and taking me away to dissect me. To this day, I still don't believe Alan's injury was the result of hitting the ground at a weird angle.
But Lois changed everything for me.
Suddenly, Metropolis was my home. Suddenly, I had a reason to stay in one place. Suddenly, I no longer felt like the drifting, shiftless alien I once was. Suddenly, my strange abilities were something to celebrate and make known to the world, albeit in an altered form, not hidden away.
With Lois' help, I gave birth to Superman.
She gave me the freedom and the desire to be who I truly was. Even in the beginning, when I had to lie and pretend to be two separate men, I could always truly be myself around her. I didn't have to hold back on teasing her - good-naturedly, of course - or in opening up to her about my family, my life, my goals, even some of my fears. As Superman, I didn't have to pretend to be anything more than a powerful alien being who has a soft heart and a gentle nature, even if he does have to get tough with criminals.
And once she knew my secret, that the two men were one and the same, I stopped hiding from her completely. It was one of the best days of my entire life. No more lying. No more hiding. No more disappointing the woman I loved when I had to suddenly vanish without an excuse. Instead, we could finally tackle the logistical problems Superman could sometimes bring about. I could trust her to cover for me when it was needed. I could trust her to know what she needed to do if - and when! - I got into trouble. More than once, she saved my life.
Together.
Together, we've built a life. We have the strongest marriage anyone could hope for. We still have the roaring passion and love for each other that we had as newlyweds. We've tackled problems far too big for either of us to handle alone. We've brought children into this world, and raised them to be upstanding citizens of this planet. They've even - in recent years, taken up the cape, spreading the mission Superman began - to better this world, to heal hurts, to bring justice, to protect and serve those who cannot do so for themselves.
Together, we've brought justice to so many. Superman aside, the reporting team of Lane and Kent has seen more criminals taken off the streets that even I can remember. No crime, no injustice of any kind has been too big or to small for us. From the couple illegally denied the ability to rent an apartment, to child abductions, to taking down multibillion dollar corporations with unsavory sides to them and links to the criminal element, nothing has ever made us balk. We've always just dove right in, eager to see justice served. We never questioned if we could do it, we always just knew that we would, because there's nothing the two of us can't accomplish.
Now, here we are, floating together here in what once was my little get-away from the world - literally speaking - but has long since been our get-away. The stars and planets that were once witnesses to my despair and heartache have known mostly happiness and hopefulness since I met Lois. Oh, I've still fled to this place sometimes to clear my head or to be alone with my solitary burden of pain - sometimes over mistakes I've made, sometimes over the pressure of being Superman, sometimes over things outside of my control. But mainly, Lois and I have come to this place together for stolen moments away from everything and everyone, when we can take a few minutes just to appreciate each other and collect ourselves.
Sometimes, Lois and I toss aside the privacy of even this place. There have been many times when our children have accompanied us to this place. Sometimes, it's been done in order discuss important matters in the utmost confidence, with no fear that the ever-changing, fast paced world of technology doesn't spy on us either accidentally or intentionally. And sometimes, we've all come up here just to bask in the wonder of the universe and experience the calming sensation of knowing how infinitely small we all are in the grand scheme of things. Our children have always likened these leisurely flights to a normal family's after-dinner walks around the neighborhood.
But now, on this fortieth anniversary, it's just Lois and me against the vastness of the universe. A quiet moment to just be with each other and remember all the good times we've had along the journey to make it this long together. A peaceful moment to wonder what our future will bring.
We've changed, Lois and I. We've both felt the effects of aging. We both have silver in our hair now - experience highlights, as Lois fondly calls them, now that she's given up on trying to dye them away. Arthritis has attacked Lois' joints, especially when rain is near, which slows her movements and makes her ache. She's dependent on glasses to see now that her eyes have weakened, even if they haven't lost their spark. As for me, well, I've had to retire from my role as Superman, hanging up the cape for good, leaving the world in the more-than-capable hands of my children. I don't like having to sit back and watch - I am, after all, a man of action, but I've unfortunately become a bit less "super" with each passing year - a result, I believe, of having given up a part of myself way back in the day when I had to save Jimmy's life in that aging machine. If this is the price I have to pay for saving my "brother's" life, then I am happy to so. Seeing him alive and well, a father of two and editor of The Daily Planet now that Perry is gone, is worth every dimming ability.
Lois argues that I've served the world far longer than I ever needed to. She tells me that the world has no right to make demands on me. She reminds me that I chose to provide a service and that I shouldn't feel guilty about stepping back and enjoying my remaining years.
And, of course, she's right.
Just because I have loved being Superman doesn't mean that I'm not tired. Physically tired and mentally tired. I never imagined, back in my twenties, how demanding being Superman would be. The exposure to Kryptonite. The constantly staying two steps ahead of those who would seek to destroy me and/or my loved ones. The ever-present knots of worry as I responded to disaster after disaster, hoping and praying that every split-second decision I needed to make would be the right one. And now, with the explosion of technology - phones that record video, computers that fit in pockets, and all the rest - the never-ending stress of trying to keep my identity secure.
Still, I miss it. All of it. The boots. The cape. The tight fit of the suit. The thrill of making an impossible rescue. The pride I felt inside when delivering criminals to the police. But I have something better now. Uninterrupted time with the woman I love.
Together.
Dancing. The movies. Theater shows. Leisurely walks. Vacations. Quiet nights at home.
All things once so rare. All things that are now so common. And even more precious because they have become our new normal. Spending time with Lois is what I love most in this life. Being with her and our children. And, of course, their children. In those moments when we can all be together, my heart is complete.
Together.
Today.
Tomorrow.
Always.
***
Together.
What I wouldn't give to be together again.
I miss you, Lois.
It's been far too long since I last looked upon your face in life, not from my still-crisp memories. Too long since I heard your voice outside of videos on TV and echoes inside my own head. Too long since my arms last held you, since my lips last tasted yours, though I can remember perfectly well how you felt, how you tasted. Too long since I was able to make love to you.
Death is cruel, Lois. Cruel to those who waste away waiting for it to claim them. And crueler still to those who can do nothing to stave off its advance on a loved one. Unbearable for those left behind to mourn. And I have mourned you, every day since you left this world, and for months prior, when death lurked in the shadowy corners, watching your every move.
But as unmoving and patient as death was, so was I. In all that time, I was by your side. We talked of the past - adventures we'd had, moments we shared, times we'd laughed and cried together. I held your hand, you held my heart. And when you'd tire I'd watch you sleep, the lines of pain easing as the medication would kick in, giving you back a pale imitation of the youth and vitality you once had, even as your body grew weaker by the day. Your mind remained sharp as ever, as did your wit and the sparkle in your eyes - the same sparkle I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.
Then, in an instant, you were gone.
There in one heartbeat.
Gone in the next.
For the first time in my life, I was separated from you by a barrier that even I could not cross. You'd gone where I could not follow. Not then. There were still those who needed me here. Our children. Our grandchildren. The great-grandchildren you never got to meet. Jimmy and his family. Our nieces and nephews, especially once Lucy passed on.
That's been the hardest part about me lingering here, Lois. I've had to watch so many people age, sicken, and die. I've known more loss than I ever thought I would. I guess it's not so different than the experience of untold numbers of regular humans. After all, some of us have to live while others have to die. But I never wanted to live my life without you, Lois. I would have gladly died the day you did. Part of me wishes that I would have. It's been hard, seeing each year out and ushering each new one in, knowing that it's only putting me further and further from the last time we were together.
Together.
It won't be much longer now, Lois.
I'm dying.
I feel it in my bones. I know it in my heart. My life is drawing to a close. Make no mistake about it, I'm afraid. Afraid of suffering. Afraid of death. I think it's only natural to have those fears. But, I welcome it too. I'm tired, Lois. I'm grateful for each new day that dawns that I get to see, but, at the same time, it's a burden just to make it through to the night. My powers are all but gone now - I know in my soul that this is the last time I'll be able to make it up here to this silent, starry refuge. It's so hard to fly now, to find the energy to raise myself off the ground, so I rarely do it. I reserve it for moments like this, when I need to be up here, alone with my memories.
It's funny, Lois.
There was a time in my life when this place was a symbol of my alien self. A physical manifestation of how disconnected I felt from my adopted home world. A refuge from everything, where I could be as alone as I felt, to brood on all the things that were weighing my heart down.
But now?
Now, this place, while still the perfect hideaway from the world, is one of the places where I feel the closest to you. It's as if, on some level, I feel like the higher into the sky I rise, the closer I become to the intangible, otherworldly realm of bliss. It's as though some part of me believes that I can get closer to Heaven this way, and, in turn, closer to you. So I come here, and I reminisce about bygone years when you walked this Earth and all I had to do was reach out and I could touch you.
My heart has been broken since the moment your heart stopped beating. My world shattered. I won't pretend that there haven't been days, weeks, months of good times since then, when I've been around our family. But every day, every happy moment, has been tinged with sadness. I'll think to myself, "I wish Lois could see this," or "Lois would have gotten such a kick out of that." And my heart will bleed anew.
I miss you, Lois.
So I come here, to this alien landscape, to look upon faraway worlds and brilliant pinpricks of starlight and feel close to you. Because of you, Lois, this unearthly space is no longer associated with my loneliness. When I come here, I remember all the times you and I came here together. All the private kisses stolen away where no one could see. The times we made love here. The quiet conversations we had - both spoken and unspoken, with only the moon and stars to bear witness. All the times we came here and you gave me your reassurances that you'd be by my side forever. All of the reaffirmations of our love. All of the moments we spent here with our family, and the way this place used to soothe even the most upset, colicky infant.
Together.
You took away my hurt. You vanquished my inner pain. You obliterated my loneliness. You gave me a reason to believe in love. You gave me a million reasons to continue on as Superman, when it seemed so hard to want to pull on the suit, when it felt like all of the hero's efforts counted for nothing. You destroyed the sadness that had once ruled my life and filled me with joy and hope.
Together.
I'm old, Lois. I used to wonder how long I would live. Did my Kryptonian DNA make me invulnerable to age and death? Would some villain finally succeed in murdering me with a stolen piece of radioactive green space rock? But I know now that I am not invulnerable to the effects of time. It doesn't have to be Kryptonite that whittles my life away.
And I am glad.
For, soon, Lois, I will be with you. Soon, I will be able to follow you to where you have gone. Soon, we will be reunited once more. Soon, my soul will meet yours and become complete again.
Together, for all eternity.
The End.
