FEEL HER PRESENCE

Another beautiful summer day in my back yard.  A cooler, dryer northwest wind rustles the red oak leaves as I look up at them, turned back white against the deep blue of  the cloudless sky.  We've had some rain, the lawn is now more green than brown.  The petunias I planted near the fence absolutely sparkle in the late afternoon sun. My next-door neighbor, home from work, gives me a cheery wave.  Haydn's String Quartet in C plays softly in my earphones. What could be more perfect that this?  How many of these moments were taken for granted as we pursued our busy lives?   And, I am grateful for the many moments we didn't take for granted; enjoyed to the fullest.  The sadness that touches everything I do since my perfect partner left me is in the knowing that we will never again share moments like this.

This afternoon I toured the UM campus with my sister, Terri, and her two grandchildren, now big teenagers, Devin and Dylan.  It was fun showing off my knowledge of all things UM: the Diag, the Law Quad, the Big House, North Campus.  They were seeing it for the first time: I was reliving memories that only Gwen and I shared.  Our very first visit to the UM campus was two months before our wedding when I was interviewed for the N. D. E. A. Institute that I attended and earned my M. A. Degree in counseling.  It seems so silly in light of today's standards, but we found it necessary to ask Gwen's parents for permission to have her accompany me on the visit.  As added insurance that we behave ourselves, we stayed with Ted and Jackie in Lansing and also paid Dick and Mary a visit.  It was, however, an awful long car ride from Gaastra to Ann Arbor. . .

Once again in my back yard, I can hear Gwen's laughter at these reminiscences: life was always fun with her, even when things weren't real funny.  Yesterday, I felt her presence very strongly as I was doing some chores in the kitchen:

FEEL HER PRESENCE

I felt her near me today

in the kitchen

as I unloaded the dishwasher.

Gently smiling, approving

of how I’m handling things.

I cried as I felt

that wonderful moment;

she knows how I need  her

near me, now

more than ever. 

^{John A. Bayerl, July 24, 2011}

Thank you, Dear, for your visits: reminders that all shall be well.