Each night
when I finish reading
I come to the same realization
my bed is way too big
it’s so empty
without her.
I invite her to join me
she always does
I’m safe for another night
until morning comes
when I awaken
with only memories
in all the lovely pictures.
Pull up the sheet and blanket
fluff the pillow.
We were told to expect
the empty nest
no one mentioned
the big empty bed.
John A. Bayerl, February 11, 2012
This is a poem I've revised since I first wrote it a year ago. I thought of this poem when I read something similar that a friend named Rita wrote; that, plus waking up to the cold this morning brought such good memories of times when I didn't wake up alone. Especially at our cottage in Canada.
Winter came in hard last night. This was the first morning this year that I've seen condensation on the edges of the windows; a sure sign that the temperature has dropped way lower than it's been in quite a while. The cold wind blew in from the north and brought some snow with it--not a lot, but enough so that I'll have to crank up the Toro today.
I've heard from all four of our kids already this weekend. So good to know that they are always on the lookout for me. So blessed to see how well they are each doing.
Tomorrow it will be 15 months since Gwen died. All those memories come flooding in--of that night, but also a year's worth of Sunday nights the year we first fell in love. Leaving her and missing her the moment the door closed behind her. But then, I knew that Friday was coming. . .
The sun is out. Time to clear the driveway, then to the gym. Why in heaven's name did I decide to bake a mince-meat pie last night?
It's going to be another of those days, Dear, when I miss you and see you in everything I do. Thank you for the four children you and I raised so that now they always have my back.
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Comments
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Winter's a little late in this region, as you note, but still has the power to be punitive. Off on a trip tomorrow to comfort, as best I can, an ailing relative.
no surprise your children are wonderful, you and your wife seem like the people everyone would want as friends.
Romantic One. I only wish that I had your way with words. It's magic.
Rita, I love reading your poems. Read my words to Romantic One.
People who knew us liked us.