I SURE WISH I KNEW

It's a Mozart kind of Monday morning. ( Resist the urge to go on with the alliteration: murky, moldy, miserable, misty, moist are words that come to mind.)  I'll get over to the gym this afternoon, but, for now, it's a good morning to reflect and remember and maybe even rejoice a bit. A friend sent me a poem about people growing old together, and a particular part of it caught my attention.  What that part said was: "True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be."  The last part of it, ". . .and will not be,"  is what is so difficult for those of us who grieve.  Gwen was young when she died, only 68 years old.  She was five years younger than I;  I've thought about the unfairness of that.  The irony does not escape me that she was sick for five years.  I take solace in and perhaps even rejoice  a little in knowing that we were able to spend those five years together, pretty much able to do whatever we chose.

One of the things I reflected on this morning was how much Gwen loved to tease me.  Beginning with, "You know what, John, maybe we should think about getting married."  Of course, that wasn't much of a tease after all, but at the time she made it sound that way.  She had that way of getting down to the truth with me. She understood true humility, praise where and when it was due, but never will I let you get too full of yourself.  What a gift she was to this basically insecure individual.  This poem about her teasing came to me this morning:

I SURE WISH I KNEW

“Gee, John, I sure wish I knew

how everything is going to work out.

I wonder. . .”

She would tease me

with words like that.

Then add words like these:

“If I dream, I hope it’s of you.”

“We’d be millionaires if we got paid

every time we wished we were together.”

No more wondering, 

everything  worked out,

as in the end all things will.

We dreamed of each other often.

Gathered our millions in love notes.

She also left these words,

no teasing, sweet and simple.

I long to hear them every night.

.

“Good night, Hon,

all my love.

Forever.”  

John A. Bayerl, March 21, 2011

All that will not be is a dream.  What was remains, and that is wonderful.  There really is no greater gift than the gift of love.