When David Died . . . .
I say that David took the hands off my clocks.
It was the greatest gift he could give me.
I tire of running my life with a large hand and a small hand.
No time for this, hurry for that. Do this now, do that before.
I hate it. With a passion.
I want to immerse myself in time and swim in it.
Feel it around me yielding and yet holding me up.
I want to feel the eternity of it and
I want to see my house and yard
at different times under the sun.
To be able to say that in the morning
this is precisely how they look.
I want the information stored in my Memory Bank
for those times when I feel bereft.
I want to see the moon rise and give way to the sun.
I want to see the rainbow
around the moon and say again,
we are in for a big snow.
I need to revel in the mundane task
of shaking out the kitchen rugs
on the back porch and feel the cold boards
beneath my slippers and the cold air
stealing beneath my clothes.
I want to keep looking at the moon with a glance,
because no farmer stares at the moon too long
and say hello David.
And when I feel very homesick, I will again
as I have in the past, take my coffee
out on the porch and sit beneath the midnight sky
with the stars daring me to look up
and identify them and again
revel in this multifaceted existence called Life.
How fortunate I have been in this magnificent time in being a parent, a mother. David was one of three brothers, my best teachers. To have had them sitting at our table for those years we could claim them made us rich. We were blessed to have David in our lives for 31 years. It would have been a tragedy to us not to have had him. And for those who knew him . . . there is not a day that he is not thought of.
He is blessed assurance that life is everlasting. That . . . we know.