It's hard for me to write today. It's one of those days when I have that awful sense of longing to once again be able to do the things with Gwen that we enjoyed doing together. It's a beautiful fall day, cool and dry, one of those days when she and I might have enjoyed simply going for a walk; or, when we lived in Marquette, a good day to load Max our dog in the car and spend an afternoon on an isolated beach we found near Big Bay. It occurred to me that these are such ordinary things that we all do each and every day of our lives, yet, with Gwen's death they have become quite extraordinary. Is any genuine love ever ordinary?
I need to remind myself and be grateful, Dear, that we were never ordinary in each other's hearts. When we were together, especially during those last days, ordinary became sublime.
ORDINARY THINGS
It’s a blessing now to know
that ordinary things can
become extraordinary.
The memory of a mischievous smile.
A long, slow dip to the floor
at the end of a waltz.
Romping on the beach.
Holding hands at the movie—
long after that should mean anything.
A wink and a promise—later.
Watching snow drift on the deck
in the middle of a blizzard.
Just lying in bed next to each other.
Thank God for things unnoticed at the time,
now consecrated as extraordinary;
by a love that lives beyond ordinary.
John A. Bayerl, September 13, 2011
I need to remind myself and be grateful, Dear, that we were never ordinary in each other's hearts. When we were together, especially during those last days, ordinary became sublime.
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