In Memory of a last day. . .

In his last days before leaving Earth  David asked, knowing what you know, how could you go on living?   And I said there were three good reasons.  Tresy, David and John,  the jewels of my life.  Never to have known them?  That would have been my greatest tragedy.   Unthinkable!  There is nothing this life could give me to match the gift of them.  They have been my best teachers.  Thank you for choosing me as your mother.

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.