It's been another nice family day. Anne was with us until late afternoon when she flew back to Dallas. Shortly before that Jeanne, Bob, Nick and Izzy arrived. It is so nice and a great distraction to have people around the house doing what families do. As I sit here, writing at the kitchen table they are in the living room watching a TV show. Dare I say, it almost feels normal. Yet. . . . there was that empty place at the dinner table.
After dinner I took great pleasure in dragging out the green garden hose and watering Gwen's Garden. I can already tell that it is only going to become more beautiful as the flowers grow and reach their full bloom, not only this year, but for years to come. Gwen's presence was very strong as I stood and admired the gift that Dick, Mary, Roy and Terri worked so hard to create in the heat yesterday afternoon.
That sense of Gwen's presence was also very strong and real as I drove home after taking Anne to the airport. Others I know who have lost a loved one tell me that their absence is often most noticeable in the car. It's not uncommon for me, at times like that, to reach over to her seat, pat her on the knee, remind her that I love her. It's hard to describe what that all feels like; for me, it's a peaceful sense of being off on another adventure with Gwen, in no hurry to get anywhere, mixed with the sadness that comes from knowing that those days are gone. This poem tries to capture a little bit of that mixture of feelings:
After dinner I took great pleasure in dragging out the green garden hose and watering Gwen's Garden. I can already tell that it is only going to become more beautiful as the flowers grow and reach their full bloom, not only this year, but for years to come. Gwen's presence was very strong as I stood and admired the gift that Dick, Mary, Roy and Terri worked so hard to create in the heat yesterday afternoon.
That sense of Gwen's presence was also very strong and real as I drove home after taking Anne to the airport. Others I know who have lost a loved one tell me that their absence is often most noticeable in the car. It's not uncommon for me, at times like that, to reach over to her seat, pat her on the knee, remind her that I love her. It's hard to describe what that all feels like; for me, it's a peaceful sense of being off on another adventure with Gwen, in no hurry to get anywhere, mixed with the sadness that comes from knowing that those days are gone. This poem tries to capture a little bit of that mixture of feelings:
SHE WAITS
There will be other seas
is the inscription we chose
for the stone that will mark
our existence.
We journeyed through life
together, an adventure on seas
that were sometimes turbulent,
often calm, always exciting.
Now she awaits on another sea
that is beyond any of my horizons.
She waits with a smile.
John A. Bayerl, May 22, 2011
I am grateful, Dear, that you left me the greatest gift of all in four children who remind me that family is love. And, I am grateful, Dear, for those times when you return from beyond my horizons just to spend a little time with me.
2 comments:
Your poem is lovely, John.
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