Up to my elbows in soap suds, washing the Sunday dishes, I suddenly heard a familiar piano refrain on the radio.
Though the washing-up water was hot, goose pimples shot up my arms.
Drying my hands, I quickly grabbed my mobile phone.
KQRS-FM, now, they’re playing our song! I texted.
But I wasn’t sending the message to my husband.
I was divorced, had two kids, Kayla, 10, and Konner, 3.
I was sending it to my first summer of 1981, Ron broke up with me to go to university.
‘I need to sow my wild oats, Kim,’ he’d said.
I was devastated, but I couldn’t bear the idea of losing him completely.
So we’d stayed friends, and kept in touch through letters and phone calls.
At first, it had made…
