Thank goodness, it's a beautiful morning, bright sun, warmer temperature; good day to get the bike down and go for a ride. Maybe this won't be a weekend from hell after all. Dick's Choralaire concert is this evening, and I'll be driving over there while the Kentucky Derby is being run; won't even have to think about whether or not to watch. It would have been hard without Gwen. So. . . .that leaves tomorrow, Mother's Day.
My friend Frank called me this morning, he does periodically. Frank's wife has the same cancer as Gwen had. They're about our age; we met them shortly after Gwen was diagnosed. We've been together in survivor and caregiver groups over the years, and would meet them at other events. This morning Frank told me that his wife is now hospitalized and that, as he put it, "the end is near." As he spoke I couldn't help but remember six months ago when I was going through a similar experience with Gwen. It's a surreal experience, everything tells you that this woman you have loved for what seems like forever is nearing the end of her life. Yet, you continue doing today what you did yesterday and the day before that and the day before than; you love her and care for her the best way you know how to do. Then, one day, people you barely know tell you that she will soon die. And, they are right, but you don't quite hear them, until it all ends. That's where I saw my friend at today. His mind knows the truth, his heart wants to keep the romance alive. At least, that's how it was with me. Frank needed someone to talk with, and I was honored that he chose me. Before concluding our conversation, I told him to be sure to do two things: Kiss your wife on the neck every chance you get, and tell her out loud that you love her; she will hear you. And, ask her to let you know she's there when she get where she's going, she will do it. Then a couple of old guys had a nice cry.
This morning as the bright sun streamed into my bedroom this poem came to me, I choose to see it as a message from my sweetheart:
My friend Frank called me this morning, he does periodically. Frank's wife has the same cancer as Gwen had. They're about our age; we met them shortly after Gwen was diagnosed. We've been together in survivor and caregiver groups over the years, and would meet them at other events. This morning Frank told me that his wife is now hospitalized and that, as he put it, "the end is near." As he spoke I couldn't help but remember six months ago when I was going through a similar experience with Gwen. It's a surreal experience, everything tells you that this woman you have loved for what seems like forever is nearing the end of her life. Yet, you continue doing today what you did yesterday and the day before that and the day before than; you love her and care for her the best way you know how to do. Then, one day, people you barely know tell you that she will soon die. And, they are right, but you don't quite hear them, until it all ends. That's where I saw my friend at today. His mind knows the truth, his heart wants to keep the romance alive. At least, that's how it was with me. Frank needed someone to talk with, and I was honored that he chose me. Before concluding our conversation, I told him to be sure to do two things: Kiss your wife on the neck every chance you get, and tell her out loud that you love her; she will hear you. And, ask her to let you know she's there when she get where she's going, she will do it. Then a couple of old guys had a nice cry.
This morning as the bright sun streamed into my bedroom this poem came to me, I choose to see it as a message from my sweetheart:
PLAY SOME MORE
The guitar, the one my son gave me
a couple of Christmases ago,
unused now,
stands in its rack, guarding
the door to her room.
I never played it well,
never will
the music gene, like the math one,
rolled off my plate
at the supper before my birth.
The love of my life
liked it when I’d strum a little,
pluck a C and a G chord
“Play some more,” she’d say,
“I like hearing you play.”
Maybe, just maybe, it might be time
to take that guitar off the rack
plunk out a chord or two—
let the music begin—for her.
John A. Bayerl, May 7, 2011
This weekend will be for you, Dear.
1 comment:
Please strum a chord for Gwen!
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