This morning as I lie here
still warm beneath the down,
rare February sunlight
opens my eyes to another day.
As I do when each day begins,
I feel the great emptiness
next to me, whisper,
sometimes say aloud,
her name and ask her
to join me
if only for a while.
I think my morning thoughts,
ideas that are fresh and new—
I’ve thought about them before,
but not quite the way I do now—
each morning it’s different,
but always the same.
I hear the icicles melting
on Bob’s house next door,
smell no coffee brewing,
stare at the huge blades
on the ceiling fan
for when down comforters aren’t needed
only a sheet perhaps
no flannel pajamas then
only something light and sexy
maybe just a tee shirt,
one that says LIFE IS GOOD.
The February sun becomes warm,
for a blessed moment,
wishes are granted,
the great emptiness is filled.
John A. Bayerl, February 20, 2012
To me, this poem is like the narcissus bulbs I planted in Gwen's Garden last fall. Right now, in February, they are where it is dark and cold, but something in them assures them that soon it will be time to ever so slowly begin the process that will bring them to the light. From darkness to light; isn't that what life is all about when reduced to its simplest form? We leave the total darkness of the womb to live in a world of light for a while before once again entering the dark into the light. At least, that's how it it is for those of us who believe that life doesn't end; it changes.
For whatever the reason, perhaps it's the prospect of a quiet Monday with nothing planned except to attend a meeting this evening, I am in a reflective mood this morning. I could carry on with the dark into light theme for quite some time, but for now those thoughts are like an unformed poem inside me, and they will need to be coddled and nurtured for a while before being allowed to emerge. They're thoughts an old guy thinks when confronted with the utter reality of the death of one who gave life much of its meaning.
As I continue with my project of digitizing all of our slides I find it to be more and more of a comforting experience. It is a review of more than two decades in our life as two people in love and of a family that was fortunate to have been able to do many exciting things together--from simple things like sharing the "Baby Jesus" cake that Gwen made each Christmas to extended trips through the American West and Canada
There is the jolting pain as well a warm feeling in my heart each time I come across a picture of Gwen looking vital and beautiful; but I remind myself that the gift we shared was meant to be shared at that time alone. I don't know how many times I've bitten my tongue on the verge of asking Gwen to help me remember a certain detail in a picture or the event we were attending.
Spring is coming, Dear, and today is one of those days when intense melancholy is replaced by a glimmer of hope. I am grateful for the grace of the special love we share and will fight through this grief with the courage to see what may yet be in store. In the end, it will matter.
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Comments
When we are in the dark space of grieving it helps to remember the "sexy" days or nights as much as to remember all the other gifts.
It kept me going for a lot of years.
rated with love
"but I remind myself that the gift we shared was meant to be shared at that time alone."
Oh, that is tough. Your posts inspire me to get my bad habits kicked out the door so I can stick around a long time...fully knowing we never know...but that my husband might one day feel so lonely, I feel obligated to do my best so he might not have to be.
Your writing is so moving, put together so well...
Be well.