I’m not averse to opening my heart to Love again. Indeed, I know well how to love and be loved, by and with a man who honors, respects, and loves me more than his own life. I know what it … Continue reading
I thought of you last night,
One night among the thousands of nights that have passed since your hand last grasped mine,
As we lay next to each other in the dark.
I thought of your breath,
Of your arms braced,
As you raised yourself above me,
The passion in your eyes
A mere reflection of mine.
My dearest, my beloved, my knight, my hero, my lover, my husband,
I thought of you last night,
As I turned my body to face where you would be,
In another lifetime and if life were fair.
I turned to face you,
And my eyes lit not upon you,
But on a rectangular box covered in pictures of you when you were here,
and a triangle shape of red and white stripes and white stars.
My hand reached out to caress what is left of your physical form,
Fingers curled around those stripes and stars,
And I remembered your strong body raised over mine…
Your eyes…your breath…
Passion, and Love…
So much Love…
We danced under the moonlit, starlit, skies
You and I
Your right arm around my back, your left hand grasping mine.
We turned and swayed and moved our feet not only to the music from the player
but to the hushed beat of our two hearts.
Under the starlit skies in our backyard.
Everywhere and nowhere
For no reason and every reason
Our bodies moving so well together
Even when it looked like we were walking side by side
We were actually dancing
Because we were so in sync
You, on my right side because you had hearing loss in your right ear
I still keep my right hand free when I walk
Just in case
Maybe….maybe someday I’ll feel your hand take mine again
We moved and swayed together for 24 years
In passion, in motion, in love, in sync
That space on my right side?
There is a gaping emptiness there that is as tangible as your physical presence once was
And my physical body reaches towards that emptiness
Only to find air
And I think it just kind of remains suspended there
Not knowing where to go or how to go, differently
I don’t know how to go, differently.
But I move and I sway sometimes
In my memory
Under moonlit skies I raise my hand to your shoulder and place my right hand in yours
Universes and stars and moonlit darkness gleam as our dance floor
And I spirit dance with you~
I was cherished in this life.
Cherished by a man who determined, from the time of meeting, that I was the one for him. Determined, by me, that he was my one.
Cherished by a man who set out to show that love to me each and every day of our lives together, in word and deed. As I showed it to him.
This is the time, 5 years ago, that my beloved husband, Chuck, and I, began, so very unknowingly, our final 2 months together. If possible, as our world narrowed into physical pain and emotional trauma, our love expanded and deepened.
I was cherished in our healthy years, and in our cancer times. No matter what, Chuck sought to love me even as his brow furrowed in distress and discomfort.
Oh, how he cherished me. And, oh, how I remember his kisses upon my lips, on the top of my head, and on my hand as he’d take it in his as we finished dancing, and raise it to his lips, as a gentleman of old would have done.
His kisses rained down upon me on every occasion. I recall reading a book about relationships early in our marriage, suggesting that a couple kiss consciously, rather than, say, a quick peck on the cheek. I mentioned that little fact to him and he put it into practice immediately. Our kisses at the door, as he left for work, or at the door, when he arrived home, lingered for up to a minute. Sometimes we’d tease each other if we left the kiss too soon, so we’d start all over again.
He kissed me under the full moon as we sat on the curb in New Hampshire, our first weekend away together.
He kissed me under a full moon as we gazed at it in New Jersey, when I rented my first apartment after living with my mom post-divorce, and we stood on the balcony, savoring the pure contentment of having our own space.
He kissed me again under a full moon in Indiana when we visited his folks, and he came to get me, grabbing my hand, wanting me to share the brightness and beauty of that luminescent orb in the night sky with him, from their front porch.
He kissed me, every time he kissed me, with passion, with so much love, with possessiveness, with happiness, with pure pleasure…and I kissed him back with the same fire. His hand behind my neck, or cupping my chin in his hands, pulling me to him…sometimes stooping down a bit, as he was taller than I, but just as much I loved to stand on tiptoe and put my arms around his neck and feel his arms around me, holding me closely and tightly…
In those final weeks before making our wild and unplanned for trip to the ER in southern California, something in the depths of my heart murmured to me each time we kissed and said remember this and after we kissed I’d stand on tiptoe again, leaning in close to where his neck and shoulders joined and I’d inhale deeply. He noticed, of course, and asked me about it and I said to him I’m memorizing you… He smiled, figuring I’d picked up another tidbit from another book.
We kissed in the hospital, and in hospice. It was I, then, who would lean down to him, in the hospital bed, or at the mirror in the bathroom as he studied his image, wondering, I’m sure, what the fuck had happened to his face and body. I’d see that look and I’d turn him to me and take his face between my two hands and say you’re still my knight in shining armor. You’re still the handsomest man I’ve ever met…
I leaned down to kiss him when he could no longer kiss me because his spirit was no longer in his body. In that kiss that I pressed upon the lips of this man I loved more than my own breath was the love of 24 years and every full moon we’d gazed upon, and every dance we’d ever danced and every piece of my heart and soul.
That last kiss held all of the honor he’d given me, and all that I’d returned to him in our living Love story. In that last kiss was our beginning, all of our wonderful in-betweens, and our end…
My dearest, my most beloved husband…Chuck Dearing…
The deep orange of the setting sun resonates with me this evening. My soul feels full of many questions, bits of anxiety, and flutters in the pit of my being. I find myself in a state of wonder. It comes most strongly each morning as I stand in the shower- which is no surprise to me as most of my thoughts seem to flow with the flow of the water. Also not surprising is the nervousness that accompanies these words- it’s palpable. These moments cause me to want to hide in a dark space as I try and understand it all. I am unwinding- knowing that there will soon be a time when I unfurl myself completely. It is ridden with excitement, curiosity, and fear of what is to become.
As I write these cryptic words I find it a challenge to fully express what resides in me, but know they must find a way to be written for they are words that my soul intuitively knows. They come through in the quiet noise that I often listen for. The stillness that graces moments of my surrounding chaos causes everything to slow- as if there was a world within a world. I observe these moments with acute awareness. This space is a fantastical world where everything and nothing exists- a place of listening, waiting, and discovery.
I want so desperately to live out loud, more passionately, and more colorfully. These depths are rising to the surface and I sense that they can no longer be ignored. My shift is happening. The flashes and waves are becoming more consistent. My soul is being flooded with a longing for something more…and yet the image conjured in my mind- an image of uprooting everything known for everything unknown leaves a sense of drowning.
Things that once seemed incomprehensible flicker with foreign possibility. My roots are digging into the earth for nourishment. My soul burns, gathering courage to live into something wild. I am being stripped naked. I believe that life will continue to nudge me into being the most raw, beautiful, and authentic woman that I am capable of being. I believe that the universe will conspire to make sure I see all of the signs necessary for me to blossom and burst forth in such a way that love is the only way of being.
I am a woman under construction. It’s messy, takes a lot of work, there are multiple layers, and things will shift, crack, and break, but in the end I believe it will be quite a spectacular masterpiece.