A Memory: May 31, 2010

With the universe, there is no beginning, no end. Life and love are eternal so there is no death as we have been programmed to believe.

When there is a death here on earth, we have mixed emotions. We feel a sense of joy that we are all part of -- and they are only returning to -- a vast and loving universe, and yet, we still grieve for the loss of what we had. We know we must go on; however, memories are like a jack-in-the box -- you never know when they're going to pop up, but it's always when we least expect them to. Sometimes we cry, sometimes we smile, sometimes we only sigh, but memories seek a validation and we must give them that. Only then, can we put them back and go on.

Today, I've validated a memory -- I remembered another magic whisper from the universe, and it was something that happened forty-one years ago.

My first husband was an army medic and we were still newlyweds when he was sent to Vietnam. He had been gone for about three months when I had a sudden urge to write a poem for him to include in the envelope with my daily letter. The poem wasn't hard to write, the words just flowed as though from somewhere outside myself. At the time, that was new to me, but it was the subject matter that surprised me. I had written a poem for him with such love, and from the vantage point of a devoted wife who was dying and saying her last goodbye to her beloved husband.

This memory popped up today because it's Memorial Day, I suppose, and the fact that Doug was killed before he got my letter with the poem. Three months after the funeral, the mailman brought me a stack of about sixteen unopened letters I had sent to Doug while he was in Vietnam. The Army sent a letter of apology along with the unopened letters, stating that because of his unit's placement in Vietnam, often the mail took a while to catch up with the men. Unfortunately, these letters had not found their way to where he was in country.

I sat on my bed and read all of the unopened letters to Doug, giving in to the fresh waves of grief that washed over me with each of the letters. Nothing could have ever prepared me for the relief and love I would feel when I re-read the poem I had written to Doug. Since he had never read the poem, it now had a whole new meaning. It was as though he had sent the poem to me. When I stumbled across the memory this morning, I asked, how could I have forgotten this magic gift from the universe?

If Only a Minute

If I only have a minute
to say goodbye to you
I will whisper what I’m thinking
when my time on earth is through.

I'll tell you how I’ve loved you
and how happy I have been
please don't think of me as leavin,
for I know we’ll meet again.

We'll hold each other close once more
I'll kiss away your tears.
We'll talk of precious things we’ve shared
through all the loving years.

When my time with you has ended
and He calls for me to come
Just know, I’ve always loved you.
Please take care of everyone.


A Box for Good Will
(autobiographical)

As a friend, I had come to help
yet one more time,
and I watched as she set
the cardboard box on the floor.
It was labeled for Good Will,
penned in large block letters.

From deep in the closet,
she brought out an old blue suit.
It had faded over the years,
but I saw in her eyes
the memories still had not.

Softly, she smoothed the sleeves
that dangled flat and empty.
Then she stroked the trousers
on the smooth wooden hanger.
Gently, she brushed
the dust from the collar and lapel,
and then I heard her sigh.
Her resolve had melted away.

Again we talked and remembered.
We spoke of long ago,
how the sleeves had encircled her
in warm secure hugs,

and the trousers had covered
lean muscular legs,
legs slightly bowed,
legs that loved to dance,

and what she missed the most
-- the heart that beat below
the lapel of the old blue suit,
the heart that beat with love for her.

For over thirty years,
the suit had stood sentinel,
loyally guarding both her
and those memories,
and I watched as she carefully
replaced the suit and closed
the closet door.

Through quiet tears
she asked once more,
how all of that could ever fit
in a box for Good Will.


In closing: I never thought I would love anyone as deeply again, but I do. Over the years, I had given up on ever feeling that way again, thinking we each have our one shot at love and mine came and went forty years ago. Then I went to a high school multi-year reunion and I fell in love all over again with the kindest, most gentle, sincere and loving man I have ever known.