Paul Williams and I grew up together, were sweethearts in High School, and continued on to the same college. We were deeply in love and inseparable. Then World War II came along and Paul volunteered to join the Marine Corps, even though he was deferred as a college student. He was a true patriot.

On the night before he was to leave for the service, we spent the night wading in the ocean, looking at the moon, and making plans for the future. I decided this was a very special night, removed my clothes and offered myself to Paul. On this day he talked about the moonlight shimmering on my bare skin and how beautiful I was, at least as he saw me.

We went swimming, talked of the future, and made love several times during the night. I promised to write him daily and he, in return, promised to write me when he could. We both declared our undying love and promised to wait for each other. I sobbed as the train pulled out of the station, with Paul hanging out a window waving.

I continued my college studies and wrote Paul, who was at the Marine Corps training base in San Diego, California, daily. Then two significant things happened. I found out I was pregnant, and Paul called on the telephone and told me he was shipping out the following morning.I did tell him that I was pregnant.

My parents decided the best way to handle the situation was to tell everyone that we had eloped the night before Paul left and had been married by a Justice of the Peace. This was not a surprise to any of our friends. Although I continued to write Paul daily, I received only occasional replies. At the end of my term, I had a beautiful baby girl whom I named Paula Alison Williams.

Paul participated in the Gilbert Islands and Marshalls Islands campaigns, at places such as Eniwetok, Kwajalein, and Tarawa, and wrote me when he could. His last communication was from Guadacanal. And then the telegram came that changed my life, "We regret to inform you that Paul S. Williams is missing in action, etc." Paul, who had received a battlefield commission to Second Lt., was near fatally wounded (I did not know this, of course at the time) while leading his platoon in an attack on a Japanese machine gun nest, suffering wounds in the head, chest, leg, and thigh. He saved many lives and was awarded the Medal of Honor for his bravery. He spent the next 27 months in Pearl Harbor and San Diego Naval hospitals. He had severe amnesia and could recall nothing long term, including me. His identification tags were lost and he was not identified, just listed as John Doe.

I, in the meanwhile, received my Bachelor's Degree in architecture, joining the nationally known firm of Boswell, Harper, and Smyth, based in Atlanta, GA. For three years I followed every MIA report and wrote continuously for information from the Marine Corps. Finally, I told my parents, now living in New York City, that I accepted that Paul was dead and was going to start dating and go on with my life. And so I did but could not bring myself to let anyone get close because of my continuing love for Paul.

After leaving the hospital, knowing nothing of his past, Paul went to USC and received a Bachelor's Degree, then a Law Degree, going to work for Barley, Head, Grossman, and Taylor, a large firm in San Francisco. He dated several women, I found out later, but made no commitments.

Paul was involved in an automobile accident in 1985. His head was thrown into the dash and he suffered a severe concussion. When he awakened in the hospital, all of his past memory came flooding back. He searched for me but since both my parents, and I, had moved, found no trace of me. Paul was looking for Anne Rogers and, of course, had no knowledge that I was living as Anne Williams. He finally gave up, hoping that I was happily married, and went on with his life.

I did pretty well with my company and became a partner, as Paul did with his law firm, also becoming a partner. And the years went by. Paula, in the meanwhile, had graduated from college, married, and had twin girls. She and her husband lived in San Francisco which was his hometown.

One evening Paul was socializing with some of his friends, at the Top Of The Mark, when he noticed a group of four women sitting across the lounge. One was the spitting image of Anne and he was shocked by the resemblance. He kept looking at her until she caught his eye and he excused himself and went over to apologize.

He apologized for staring at her but told her she looked exactly like an old friend he had been searching for. She noticed the coincidence of last names and commented on it. He then asked her mother's maiden name and when she said Rogers he had to sit down. As he gazed at her intently, a tear fell on his cheek, and the women asked if he was OK. He told Paula to brace herself and then took a picture of Anne out of his billfold that he had been carrying all of these years. Paula gasped and said, "But that's my mother." Paul looked at her with tears streaming down his face and said, "Paula, I'm your father." Here is this silver haired man, in his sixties, with a deep scar running from his left eye to his chin, proclaiming to be her father. He asked if she would join him at another table, which she did, and told her the entire story about Anne and himself, pointing out that he had never married, and found out that she, also, had not married. Paula, tears streaming down her face, sobbed against his chest.

They decided together that Paula would call her mother and invite her to San Francisco, for the weekend, to discuss something important. Paula picked Anne up at the airport and refused to talk about why she had asked her to come to San Francisco, just that they had reservations at the St Francis Hotel dining room at 8:00 O'clock that evening.

Paul had reserved a table in Paula's name. The women were taken to a table, to be seated, and found it to be occupied by a silver haired man. I took one look at the man and my eyes opened in astonishment. I said, "Paul, Oh My God, Paul," and he stood up and took me into his arms. The tears were flowing from all of us.

Forty two years after our night of parting we met again, and two months later we were married. We flipped a coin to see which one of us moved and I lost, so home sweet home is now, San Francisco, California, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. We see our daughter and grandchildren frequently and are madly, gloriously, in love.

And there is absolutely no question in my mind that we will be together until death us do part. I have written our story to let others know that nothing is impossible in this world we live in.

Anne Rogers Williams