BIRCH CREEK CROSSROAD

The way I am feeling tonight is best described as "blue."  It's been a pretty good day, so I shouldn't be feeling blue.  But, I am.  

This morning I played golf with Don, who attended a support group with me a while back.  We played a course I hadn't played since the summer Bob and Jeanne were married; when  we played it with Bob and his dad.  The course we played is in Whitmore Lake, and, on the way home I took the route that Gwen and I always took on our way to and from work when we lived on Baseline Lake.  As usual,  sad feelings of disbelief were my constant companion.  Later in the afternoon I met with Dave and during my talk with him I said that those moments when I realize that I am alone and that Gwen isn't waiting at home for me are like getting punched in the stomach.  

Driving down that old familiar road today, with the leaves on the trees in full color, reminded me of this summer, when I visited what had once been the farm where we grew up.  At that time I made some notes about what it was like to visit a place that was at once eerily unfamiliar and yet totally familiar.  This is a poem that kind of describes what that was like:

BIRCH CREEK CROSSROAD

Back when we walked to school

the road was just called 320;

now the sign marks it as

County Road 320,

Birch Creek No. 6.

How many times did we walk to school

down that road?

Sometimes we ran from one light pole

to the next, used them as markers,

it helped make the distance seem less.

The long driveway to where our home once stood

is now an abbreviated cul-de-sac,

the big hill that we slid on in the winter

has shrunk into a knoll.

The light poles that marked our travels

are still there, and

five cedar trees where driveway meets road

still stand guard, marking the spot

where we waited for the bus

that took us to worlds far away;

where it didn't matter

if a few miles of patched and pitted asphalt

are called 320, or County Road 320,

or, Birch Creek No. 6.

Besides, those of us who walked it

knew it was the Birch Creek Crossroad.

John A. Bayerl, October 11, 2011

The woman who cleans our house was here today, Dear.  She told me that she always makes an effort to be sure that room downstairs is extra clean because she knew you liked it that way.  She also told me that when her boss asked her where she was today she said, "John and Gwen's place, it will always be Gwen's place too."  It always makes my heart so happy when people who knew you tell me things about you.