SECRET LANGUAGE

  

SECRET LANGUAGE

  

When I told my friend Dave

about her dreams

he cried

because he knew

the special language

used by the dying

to comfort the living—

those who love them.

It would be a year beyond the time

she no longer told me dreams

when I learned

the secret, special language

the dying use

to make precious every moment

with those who love them—

it’s knowing

we are all going to die.

Now her dreams make me cry.

John A. Bayerl, December 12, 2011

This is kind of a poem about a poem.  Way back on January 22 of this year I wrote a poem called FINAL ACTS.  The poem was about the time when Gwen told me that she was going home.  At the time I heard what she said, but the idea that she would be dead a week later was incomprehensible to me.  Now, more than a year later, I understand the special secret she shared with me.  It's the secret everyone knows.  Son Mike, the physician, puts it this way:  "Death is totally democratic."    Or, as I one time heard someone say, "Life is a terminal illness."   

When my perfect partner left me it was and continues to be the loneliest feeling in the world.  Then, as life continues onward, a certainty persists that there are still things to be done by me.  Each day this is made more apparent by a loving kindness on the part of one of our children, grandchildren, a friend, or one of the myriad of new friends I discover daily.  The lonely feeling is buffered by gratitude.

Today, Dear, I came to the realization that you are with me as I contemplate another Christmas without you, a song to be sung, a poem to be written, a friend to be comforted, and yes, jokes to be heard and told.   As gratitude arrives, so will meaning.  I'll never forget that sunny afternoon, early in November, when you awoke from your nap and told me the secret.  What a gift; even though it took me a more than a year to unwrap it.