Elvis and Me

by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley

He taught me everything: how to dress, how to walk, how to apply makeup and wear my hair, how to behave, how to return love—his way.

There’s an old Southern belief that holds that a woman goes into a marriage thinking she can change her man, while a man wants his woman to stay the same as when he married her.

The man in my hospital room that day was the man I loved, and will always love. He didn’t have to try to be strong and decisive or sexy, he wasn’t afraid to show his warmth or vulnerability. He didn’t have to act the part of Elvis Presley, superstar. He was just a man, my husband.

My view of life had been fashioned by Elvis. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security.

He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal.

For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

“It’s not that you’ve lost me to another man, you’ve lost me to a life of my own. I’m finding myself for the first time.”