THINGS HOPED FOR

Today it is four months since my 50 year love affair with my perfect mate ended here on earth.  It's not been an easy day, made more difficult by the fact that, purely by coincidence, a local veteran's charity came to pick up the last reminders of Gwen's illness.  This included walkers, a wheel chair, sanitary items, rubber gloves, a cane, and other paraphernalia.  I also got rid of some of my old clothing.  I've lost a quite a bit of weight, and I was able to get rid of a lot of my "fat" clothes.  Saddest of all, they also accepted books, and  I was able to give them all of Gwen's nursing books.  So, my life is a little less cluttered. And, a little more empty.  Some would say that there are no coincidences.

To honor Gwen's memory I spent time in the room where we spent the last couple of years, lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling she stared at for all those days, snuggled under my afghan and had a good cry.  Particularly poignant was my memory of the times I would read aloud to her from a novel.  She found that so relaxing and calming, particularly when I massaged her scalp at the same time.  Love made tangible.  The power of being connected by touch.  Maybe that's what I miss most, just being able to touch her.

There were certainly times when we cried.  I've been thinking about those times lately.  When she was diagnosed with diabetes and we lost the child she had been carrying for six months I recall a most tender time in her hospital room when I held her in my arms and we cried.  When she had spent two weeks at her parents home with our two young children while I drove to Oregon and got settled, and she then flew out with the two kids we had a joyful reunion, I held her in my arms and we cried. (This  remarkable.   As I am typing this my telephone rang, and it was one of our old friends from when I attended school in Oregon.  Her husband, my classmate then, died three years ago.  She called to see how I am doing.  Coincidence?) When we came home from the doctor after she had been told of her cancer I held her in my arms and we cried.  Early in our relationship when we shared intimate moments I would hold her in my arms and we would cry.  All of those times were blessed times when we became totally open to the love we shared, and, in a manner of speaking, everything, including tears,  leaked out.  That is the love that surpasses death.  Gwen and I made a habit of always hoping for the best.  A year before she died, I wrote this to her.  I didn't know then how true those words would ring a year later:

THINGS HOPED FOR

There are faith, hope and love.

It has been said that the greatest of these is love.

To be sure,        

we keep the faith

and love each other always.

It is hope that keeps us going

and binds us together in faith and love.

John A. Bayerl, November 15, 2009

I attended a meeting on Thursday and ran into an old friend of your from the OR at Kellogg Eye Center.  She hadn't heard about your death.  We had a good cry.  Like everyone else who knew you, she talked about what a wonderful person. You  never had an unkind word to say about anyone.  Way back when you sent me the picture you had taken when our engagement was announced, I wrote to you that when I saw the picture it was scary because you were so beautiful that I couldn't see how you could possibly have fallen in love with me; it made me the luckiest guy in the world.  I felt that way again when your friend said those nice things about you.