HOT

Hot

was our first time

together as one

sweet gentle love

joy—

Joy

each and every time

through the years

we completed each other

always—

Always

new, exciting

never bored

no seven year itch

lovers—

Lovers

growing old

together as one

better and better

always—

Always

‘til death

do us part

my graceful perfect partner

so hot

With thanks to Kate.

John A. Bayerl, March 13, 2012

It's been a good day--I saw some old friends, made a new one, heard from several others.  Yesterday was kind of tough as are each of those commemoration days. It is now 16 months since Gwen died.  "Is it getting better?" friends ask me.  "Define better," I think, but what I say is, "it never gets better, it gets different."  The friends I met with this morning, all of whom have lost a spouse, one of them twice, all agree on one things:  no one will know what it is like to lose someone who was loved dearly until one knows what it is like--and there's only one way for that to happen.  

I imagine, Dear, that our four children read the poem and think: "Dad's calling mom hot?"  You were alway hot to me, and I didn't tell you often enough--but you knew.