The First Time

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 As your fingers glide

graciously along 

my arms, 

to settle on my shoulders,

I am transported 

to the first time.

The First time

you had the right to 

this action. 

Which,

of course, 

created a reaction in me. 

A Touch of the Brain Cancer...

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That is what he said to me, as we stood at the end of each of our driveways. Timing our conversation in between the cars that were passing us as we caught up with each other. That is the way with near neighbors. One doesn't speak for days, weeks, maybe even months, if the weather is cold, or icy, or snowy. 

He wan't even Irish. He was Italian. The Irish are always know for the understated catastrophe, while I thought, the Italians were a much more exuberant people, or is that a stereotype? Not being Italian, I not an expert in these matters. 

How does one have a touch of the brain cancer? This was a quandary I have puzzled over for the last two years, as he struggled with surgeries, radiation, chemotherapy. It seemed to me as I watched, from across the street, it was so much more than a touch, it looked more like dynamite hitting hard where it hurt the most. 

As his journey followed the path of illness, I watched ambulances make intermittent visits to his home, ferrying him away, for his wife to return him days later. 

She always sent me a wave and a smile as she slowly took up all of the outside tasks I was use to seeing him do for the last twenty years. She once mentioned, he just wan't sure if she was taking the lawn mowing seriously enough. Really, I responded, as I was unaware that lawn mowing was a serious matter. Yes, she said. He wanted the rows to be straighter, the edges cleaner, the clippings to disappear. Her thoughts? He was missing being able to control...anything. When she shed it in that light, I could see it too.  Smiling, she would go back to sweeping her drive, and I would walk back up mine, admiring her more each day. 

These last two years have given me the opportunity to watch two people who were truly dedicated to making the time add up to something. Something of substance. Something to admire. Something that is rare. 

It is easy to love when we are young. It is easy to love when we are healthy. It is easy to love when the journey is uneventful. But we grow old, we get sick, and mountains form over years making life challenging.  The real reward, is when we are old, when we are sick, and when life's journey is very eventful, in every sense of the word, we still love. 

His "touch of the brain cancer" was an detour I am sure they would have rather not experienced, yet they did it with grace, kindness, and love, each and every day these last two years. He will be missed, this old neighbor of mine, but his memory will be strong in my heart for the rest of my life. 

Lingering Thoughts

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If you should die...

       before me,

I will still slide my 

Hand - or- leg over to your side,  

Seeking warmth, 

   and comfort, 

and

   safety in dreams,         

When I was not alone. 

...