The weather has been great today--finally. Temperatures got up into the 80s and after a visit to the gym and later the golf course I was even able to get out in the back yard to plant the other rosebush in Gwen's honor. I was anxious to get the planting done because tomorrow promises to be not as productive or happy. . . it will mark the six-month anniversary of the death of my perfect partner. Plus, rain and storms are predicted. In some ways I am still unable to get my head around the fact that the person did so much to make me who I am is gone. Just yesterday I got home from somewhere and noticed the the lilacs in the front yard are beginning to bud. My first thought was to cut a bouquet of them and put them in a vase near Gwen's bed so that she would be able to enjoy their fragrance. It's things like that.
This morning I was up early to take Anne over to the BCBSM Office in Southfield. She left from there this evening to return to Dallas. Mike also called me today. He is in Houston visiting (and fishing) with his friend from medical school, Darrell, who is an ER doc down there. I spoke with Darrell and he promised to take me out to dinner the next time he's in Ann Arbor, which is apparently quite often. Another of the bright and happy things that happened today was a letter in the mail from Karen who was my secretary when I was at Community High way back in the 70s. She had read the article about me in the memoir group that was in the paper a little while ago, and it was the first she had heard of Gwen's death. She knew Gwen quite well then, and more recently we would occasionally run into her and her husband at a restaurant or other place around town. She wrote a lovely letter of condolence, and I will respond to her soon. We used to joke that we were the only two sane people at CHS back in the day.
In honor of today, a bright and happy day, I finished working on this poem:
John A. Bayerl, May 3, 2011
This morning I was up early to take Anne over to the BCBSM Office in Southfield. She left from there this evening to return to Dallas. Mike also called me today. He is in Houston visiting (and fishing) with his friend from medical school, Darrell, who is an ER doc down there. I spoke with Darrell and he promised to take me out to dinner the next time he's in Ann Arbor, which is apparently quite often. Another of the bright and happy things that happened today was a letter in the mail from Karen who was my secretary when I was at Community High way back in the 70s. She had read the article about me in the memoir group that was in the paper a little while ago, and it was the first she had heard of Gwen's death. She knew Gwen quite well then, and more recently we would occasionally run into her and her husband at a restaurant or other place around town. She wrote a lovely letter of condolence, and I will respond to her soon. We used to joke that we were the only two sane people at CHS back in the day.
In honor of today, a bright and happy day, I finished working on this poem:
A BRIGHT AND HAPPY DAY
You promised that our wedding
would be a bright and happy day;
a mirror of our entire life together.
Yes, it rained a little
on our bright and happy day;
a welcome sign of the
fertility and longevity
that we came to enjoy.
We kissed as man and wife;
the warm June sun
made clouds disappear,
we knew only tears of joy.
The reflected bright happiness of that day
bears me up each day now
when tears of sadness, once feared,
have become welcome visitors.
I recently came across a card I gave Gwen on our 40th wedding anniversary. In it I had written, "Forty years ago today was the best and happiest day of my life." You kept your promise, Dear, a bright and happy day indeed.
1 comment:
Oh absolutely beautiful! Very talented and what a lovely way to speak your heart. Very lovely. Thanks for sharing
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