Making Room

We're having unseasonably warm and beautiful weather in Parker this week. The temperature has been north of 60 the past two days, with clear blue skies sporting some of those wispy clouds that remind me more of April than January [Note: updated forecast is for a high of minus 3 degrees on Tuesday, 1 Feb!]. The sunrises have been breathtaking, but have been totally outdone by the heart-stopping sunsets. The views of the snow-capped Rockies against this backdrop...so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes. It's the kind of weather that gets me outside and moving forward again, even if it is only to walk the dogs.

Today I did some cleaning in the garage. Josh has been working on our big bad blue Bronco, and it was time to make some room to safely walk through to the freezer! While I was out there, I was finally able to gird my loins and load up some of the medical equipment left from caring for Bill. Felix, Bill's prosthesis which we named after Felix Ungar since Bill was like Oscar Madison of The Odd Couple, went to a  company (Hanger Orthopedics) that sends teams to Haiti to fit victims of the earthquake with prosthetics. I know Bill would have been happy to see it go to such a good cause. Bill would have been happy just to see it go. His wheelchair and other adaptive equipment went to Goodwill Industries.

We have more space in the garage as a result, but it was strangely hard to let go of these things. I found myself tearing up as I handed Felix over. These were objects that had held and supported Bill; now they will hold and support someone else. I know in my heart that moving these things out was a positive thing to do, but still feel the loss as if they weren't just things. They were as much a part of our daily life as was the bed we shared. As much as I had cursed that wheelchair and the bruises it gave me, I so miss seeing him in it that I somehow didn't want to let it go -- as if keeping it around could keep him around a little longer.

How much of the stuff in our lives is there to fill the void of people and events that are long gone? How much of it, like Bill's wheelchair, is taking up space that would be a welcome spot for the people and possibilities coming into our lives if we would only make room for them?

Poetry From Long Ago

I have been tearing the house apart looking for Bill's DD-214. It is making me crazy for a couple of reasons. First, I know it is here somewhere; it's not something you lose, because it is way too important. The other reason it is making me crazy is that I have to be looking for it at all. The VA is asking me to produce it; even though they have a complete file on Bill that is over 25 years old. So, I have sent a prayer up to Saint Tony (who always comes through for me) and given up the search for the night.

In the meantime, while looking for the 214, I came across a bundle of poetry I saved from decades ago when I still wrote poetry now and then. Here is one I wrote for Bill for our first Valentine's Day as a couple in 1982:

The Vase

Do you have any idea

How many years it's been

Since last I noticed that

Valentine's Day

was anything other than a day

for children to exchange paper hearts?

I would pass by card counters

and look the other way.

The heart-shaped boxes wrapped 

in pink and red cellophane

held no special appeal for me.

But, of course, you know this year

 is and has been

different.

I looked through card after card;

Mushy

Stupid

Silly

Insulting

Clinging

and 

Dull.

And I realized that no other person

could write for me

the feeling I have

for you.

So

if I give you my love,

would you give me your heart

to put it in?

****

The following two, written in September 1981, have a familiar ring to it given my current situation:

Chewing Gum and Baling Wire

Do your life kiddo

that's the important thing

now.

Do your life

because people depend on you

big people 

and 

LITTLE people

 and if you don't do

your life

then 

their lives

come 

unglued.

So paste the pieces

back together

kiddo

Nobody is really interested

in pain stories

or pain poetry

or 

pain

for that matter.

So get on with it

kiddo

and do your life.

***

Monad

"You know he's right," she said,

"we really should back up a bit.

After all, we're both adults here, 

and there really is no reason

why we can't handle our lives

in a

singularly

responsible

adult

manner."

And then she drifted down the road

and sighed

and smiled

and went back to paying bills

writing letters

sorting papers --

doing all those things that

singularly responsible adults do --

knowing 

it would never be the same

but not knowing 

what it

would 

be.

It's still not easy being a grown-up

and

sometimes it isn't much fun either.

When I was little

and got scared

and needed a hug,

there was always a big person

to push the monsters away.

I'm not supposed to believe 

in monsters anymore,

But there is something dark

and cold

outside my window now.

The kids are sleeping

the dog is sleeping

and you are home

being singularly responsible

and adult.

And this is 

easier

than I thought it would be

but

definitely

not 

fun.

Could I crawl into your lap

for a little while?

Just until the monsters go away?

****