Today, while standing before the congregation and singing with the choir, I found myself not able to take my eyes off the seats where Gwen and I always sat. There were other people in them now, yet I could see us sitting there, holding hands. It was another of those moments when none of it seems possible. How can it be that our physical presence occupied those seats literally hundreds of times, and now it can never happen again? It's not as simple as denial, I consider myself to be pretty grown up and realistic. I know that Gwen is no longer with me; her ashes are on my mantel as proof. Yet, there continue to be those moments when it just doesn't seem possible--it's somehow wrong.
A line in a song we sang this morning caught my attention: "Our lives are but a single breath. We flower and we fade." Lots of wisdom in those lines, yet, easy as it is for others to write songs, and make movies about the cycle of life, those of us who grieve understand, in ways only grief can present, how living that circle of life is quite another matter. On the way home form church I stopped at Bell's Diner for breakfast; I've been there with friends recently, but this was the first time by myself, without Gwen. Sure wanted her to be sitting across the table from me. Another first accomplished; look it in the eyes, learn from it, and let it go.
The sun has come out, the temperature is in the 70s, it's time to hit a bucket of golf balls. There were a couple of young couples at the driving range. All those fond memories.
I'm fortunate that Gwen left so many loving words behind in all those letters we exchanged the year before we were married. As I read them, I kept a list of particularly endearing things she said.
A line in a song we sang this morning caught my attention: "Our lives are but a single breath. We flower and we fade." Lots of wisdom in those lines, yet, easy as it is for others to write songs, and make movies about the cycle of life, those of us who grieve understand, in ways only grief can present, how living that circle of life is quite another matter. On the way home form church I stopped at Bell's Diner for breakfast; I've been there with friends recently, but this was the first time by myself, without Gwen. Sure wanted her to be sitting across the table from me. Another first accomplished; look it in the eyes, learn from it, and let it go.
The sun has come out, the temperature is in the 70s, it's time to hit a bucket of golf balls. There were a couple of young couples at the driving range. All those fond memories.
I'm fortunate that Gwen left so many loving words behind in all those letters we exchanged the year before we were married. As I read them, I kept a list of particularly endearing things she said.
WORDS SHE WROTE
When she wrote these words,
“I hope he remembers
the girl up north in Gaastra.
She will always remember him forever.”
How could she know those words,
meant to quell the impatience of youth,
would resonate through the years
to bring even greater comfort?
She left me on a warm November day,
for what can only seem like forever;
Since that day, when I became
a fully participating member of the human race,
words she wrote long ago
lift me still, fill me with hope,
“You have completely filled
all my future dreams and life,
and I love you for being you.
I will love, want and need you, forever.”
Especially that word forever.
John A. Bayerl, May 1, 2011
"Our life is but a single breath. We flower and we fade." Can't get those words out of my mind, Dear. You must want me to think about them.
2 comments:
Indeed John ... Those of us who grieve understand, in ways only grief can present.
You said this very well. I have a note my husband left years ago. I found it while going through things. Weird as most notes go to the garbage. I worked night shift at the time. "Call me when you wake, or I'll call you around 10:30-11:00 when on break. I love you" I hung it up. Brings such comfort.
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