APRIL SNOW

I had heard the words

spoken before

said them myself

with, I thought, conviction

deep emotion.

heard them repeated, whispered

through a kiss

believed the words

to be true

as my heart filled

with something new

pure and white

warm, but like snow

silently falling, giving

witness, making new

two young hearts

filled with only desire.

April came

perhaps there was too much

warmth, the snow melted

into the summer

when roses, not love, grew lush,

and in the fall

all was brown and shriveled

my heart was once again

empty

through the winter that came

filled with deep, dirty snow.

Gradually,

ever so cautiously

the words formed again

in two hearts

while two eyes looked

deeply

into the window

of another soul

and the words

I love you

were spoken aloud

once more

but different

giddy with delight

when all the April snow

had melted.

John A. Bayerl, March 3, 2012

Today, April 12, 2012, is a special day in two ways.  Today marks 17 months since I lost my perfect partner.  In a way that seems like impossibly long ago, while in another way it seems like just a breath away.  It's still the hardest thing I do each morning, awakening to the reality that Gwen is no longer with me in bed.

On a much, much happier note, it was 50 years ago today that, while on spring break, I visited Gwen at her home in Gaastra.  We went out parking, which is what we did in those days, shared a kiss, looked into each others' eyes and said, simultaneously, "I love you."   Then Gwen, in the way that only she could, said:  "Maybe we should think about getting married."  The maybe wasn't about our love for each other; we knew that we were meant for each other.    The maybe was about knowing we would have to make some major decisions concerning both Gwen's and my future career and education plans.  The maybe was about recognizing that there were obstacles in our way, but it was never about our ability, as partners, to meet and surmount those challenges.  Now, 50 years later, as I ponder my future without Gwen, I am grateful  that Gwen and I were graced with the gift of a lasting love.

A friend recently introduced me to the idea of "It."   Many times since Gwen's death others have commented to me about how lucky Gwen and I were that we were able to find "It" together.  Yes, there is the "luck" of having that flirty young girl plop herself on my lap in the back seat of my friend's car.  Beyond that, our "It," as is the case with all lasting marriages, was the result of things like dedication, hard work, respect, good sex,  family adventures, and, over all, seeing each challenge that arose as an opportunity to, if I may paraphrase St. Francis of Assisi, "say we love each other always, and, when necessary, use words." 

In contrast, 51 years ago I was on the verge of ending a love affair with a girl named Betty Jo.  We were sure that we loved each other dearly, yet, just couldn't make it work.  In a strange way I find great comfort in knowing that, although it may at the time appear to be the end of the world when something beautiful ends, in fact it can signal the beginning of something even more beautiful.  That's what the poem is about.  It's also about believing that life doesn't end; it changes.  

I haven't written in a while, Dear. I thought long and hard about what I've said here and my commitment to always have what I write honor you.   You are never forgotten, always held deep in my heart.