THINGS THAT MATTER

Today I was downstairs folding laundry when I thought I heard someone walking on the stairs.  Imagining that there was someone walking in an empty house would be scary to most people.  There was no one there, of course, it was just something in our old house stretching and adjusting itself when the sun shone full on the roof.  What happened to me, however, was not fear, instead I felt comforted.  It reminded me of another endearing thing about Gwen.

During the time Gwen was ill, except for maybe the last year or so, she would sometimes surprise me by quietly sneaking up the five carpeted stairs to where I was sitting, reading or watching TV.  She would come behind my chair, put her hands on my shoulders, kiss me on top of the head, and whisper "I love you."  Those were always such special times; I get goose bumps even now just thinking about them.

Then she would ask me if I would miss her when she was gone,  and I gave her the expected, "of course I will" response.   Neither of us could have imagined a beautiful fall afternoon in the future when just the memory of her loving tenderness would bring me to tears.  Now, as I make my way through life without my perfect partner, I sometimes wonder about how many other special moments I took for granted.  During the 50 years we were together there were thousands of them I'm sure.  This poem is about  special moments that I did notice:

THINGS THAT MATTER

Each day I start anew

reconstructing a lifetime

that was 50 years in the making.

The things that didn’t matter,

went unnoticed,

now get my attention,

I notice them,

they matter:

searching for a tube of lipstick

on the bottom of a cluttered purse,

the way you dried yourself

after a bath.

You filled each day

with things that were for me alone,

in ways that seemed to matter little then,

but so much now.

John A. Bayerl, October 4, 2011

Thank you, Dear, for giving me a lifetime of things that mattered.