Morning Mountain Air

A short time after Gwen had died, I gathered a folder of pictures of her that had been taken during the years of her illness and sent them to my children.  One of my daughters commented that it had helped her see that we had enjoyed a decent quality of life over that period of time.  With the help of a light-weight wheel chair that the children had bought for us, we had indeed not allowed her disease to control our lives.  Beginning with a trip to Cancun at Christmas , 2006 (shortened when Gwen broke an ankle), we spent time in New York City, visited our children in Colorado, Pennsylvania and Texas, spent time with Gwen's brother and sister in the U. P., took a farewell tour of St. Joseph Island in Canada, stayed at a friend's condo in Florida, and accepted an offer to spend a week with my sister Mary and Brother-in-law Milt at a place in Green Valley, Arizona.  At the same time we spent a couple days with our friends Tom and Marge Mackenzie in Phoenix.  I'm sure we did even more things that I've since forgotten.  It was while we were in Arizona in March of 2009 that I wrote this poem, dedicated to the members of the support groups Gwen and I attended:

MORNING MOUNTAIN AIR

In the middle of March,

in the desert,

I turn my face to the sun

and cool, dry, morning, mountain air

blesses my sense.

My mind, my heart, my soul,

are cleansed of burdensome winter

by the chattering of birds

and scent of flowers.

I bring to mind my friends,

who each Tuesday night tell their stories.

 Of doors slamming shut on bricks  in their heads.

Working hard so that sweat hides the tears.

Flopping like a fish out of water.

Marching in place in endless circles;

like a snowball forever rolling downhill.

They take comfort that

this feeling of being on a bongo board

 will someday stop.

This train I didn’t choose to board

will return to  the station.

For now, they cry, my happiness machine

is missing its battery pack,

and even when I feel good

I feel bad.

And here in Arizona

on this cleansing morning,

I keep these friends in my heart

and pray for them to have

sunlit faces

and cool, dry, morning mountain air.

John A. Bayerl

March, 2009

Friends and relatives have asked me to spend time with them in their homes or rental in warm climates.  I am not ready to do that yet.  Although I feel good when I feel good, the battery pack for my happiness machine is still on the charger.