A Valentine

"I love you," he said.

 

He thought those words were inadequate to tell all he had to say. He wanted to say more, tell her how deeply he cared.

But it was enough, she thought. In many ways, it was everything.

Thinking abou it, she'd recall that he recited his poetry to her and picked up his socks. Mostly. Some of the socks went missing for weeks and she hated it when he did his own laundry because he did such small loads.

That was enough, she thought. But there were other things.

He made dinner most nights. He'd make extra so that when he traveled, she'd have some home cooked meals. He snored, but he made good chicken marsala.

He made her laugh. A lot. He listened to his gawd-awful music much too loud and couldn't carry a tune in a large pail, but he made her laugh everyday.

He liked to feed birds and grow flowers, both of which he did for himself. He tracked dog poo into the house, but his "garden of birds" was a place of solace, peace and beauty and she understood that.

He kissed her for no particular reason. And rubbed her back without being asked. Both of those were nice, real nice.

He had brought her times of sadness and days of abundant joy. The joy outweighed the sadness, so the scale was leaning correctly, she thought.

He was away much too often it seemed. Times apart were the hardest. At times, the conversations were filled with news, sweet words and plans for the days when they'd share the same air and sky again.  Other times the talk was clipped as the events of the previous day took their toll on his spirit and will. The conversations that mattered would have to wait. The waiting worked as they reconnected with their words while looking into each other's eyes.

He had given her the love of the outdoors. This surprised her the most. A city girl, through and through, she never imagined she would actually long to see red cliffs, flowing wild rivers and trees older than anything else alive.

He thought her to be beautiful. He marveled at her grace when she failed to recognize it. She believed his words, but thought him blind most days.

He said that she was bright, smart and insightful. "The smartest woman I know," he'd tell his friends. She thought otherwise as she listed her mental shortcomings, forgetfulness and inability to call up a word that worked best in a sentence.

He was a dreamer who shared his dreams with her. She liked that. Even when those dreams were clearly out of any reach, she appreciated the sharing.

And among those things she liked, he lowered the lid on the toilet.

Yeah, that was it. He lowered the lid after he peed. She got hot just thinkin' about it.

I See Dead People

I am not a cop. I am not a soldier. I am not a nurse or doctor. I've fought fires and worked with the fire department, but I am not a fire fighter. These jobs often involve dealing with dead people.

My job is to prevent death. But this week, I saw dead people. Two to be exact. And it takes its toll when I have time to download all that I have learned and saw.

Both were tragic and if there is any personal consulation, both deaths were due to natural causes and not due to some terrible industrial or mine accident. But when they occur on the property of my employer, it is my job to coordinate and conduct investigations, handle the notification of emergeny personnel and the many regulatory agencies involved in the aftermath of people dying on the job.

For the first time ever, my cell phone camera contains pictures of people who probably had very fulfilling lives and now are lifeless.

I hope very few of you have the opportunity to see a corpse. I'm not talking about a loved one in a casket, prepared and suited up for us to remember one last time what they sort of looked like in life. Most likely, if we live long enough, we will see more than a few.

I'm talking about the raw, exposed and terribly undignified body of a person who was one hour ago drinking a cup of hot coffee, making a funny remark or nodding to you as you spoke to them and are then suddenly dead.

It is shocking and invasive, as if you are seeing something so personal as to be embarrassed for the victim. It makes you realize, once again as if we needed reminding, that life is so brief and death comes very easily, often without much warning.

But it also reminds me at least that the body is just so much of a shell. I am reminded when I saw the body of my father after he died. I was not present when he slipped away in the early morning hours at the hospital, but gathered at the mortuary with the rest of my family to make plans for his services that afternoon.

The mortician, a friend of the family, announced that my father's body had just arrived. I asked to see him, a request that was not met with enthuisasm by our host. After insisting, I was taken to a back room where my father was just beginning to be washed.

The tears came not from horror or shock at the sight of his body which was oddly hued and with his head reared back in a wide mouthed expression as if gasping for another breath of sweet air. It was not the odd position of his hands and arms that I had so greatly admired for their sinewy and rough hewn strength. It was not for the smell of death that had already begun to emanate from him. It was none of those things.

It was because I knew that I did not have the chance to see my father again. What lay before me was merely a remnant of him, or better yet, a false version of him in life. Truly a shell and nothing more.

It was right then, right at that exact moment that I really began to miss him because he was really gone, really dead and really never coming back. The tears came immediately and hard.

(As I type this, I find myself stopping for a moment before writing the next lines.)

I miss him everyday and though the memory of his dead body returns to me now and again, that is not what makes me pause, take a deep breath and then continue. It is the memory of so many other things that makes me smile just a bit and makes my heart ache just a little. Those sweet memories are what give me pause.

And so it is when I consider the two bodies I had to encounter this week. I did not know these men but I do know that there are sons, daughters, wives and friends who will grieve and hopefully have sweet memories of them. What remains is nothing but empty flesh.

Do yourself a favor. Kiss someone you love. Smell their skin, stroke their arms and hold them for no particular reason. Listen to their voice and laughter. Watch how they walk or read a newspaper. Do all these things and record it deep in your memory.

These things are better than a photograph. I promise you, it will really matter someday.


Reprinted by request. Originally posted in "Modern Artifacts" November, 2006.

Words o' Wisdom For the New Year

An odd collection of bonmots and hopefully helpful insights. In truth, they are probably worth what you paid for them. Happy New Year, all.

• The phrase "he's generous to a fault" was no doubt first said by a stingy person. It is inherently a lie.

• May you have Peace, Love, Health, Prosperity and Thoughtfulness. May you enjoy the first four by employing the latter.

• Some might say that that fresh starts at the new year is artificial. Making good changes in how you live, love and move in this life can be quite real, regardless of the date. But the new year is as good a time as any.

• Things don't have to happen for a reason. Things just happen. However, your reactions to such events should have a reason.

• Be good to one another. Practice until you get it right. Please.

• It takes very little effort or insight to see and assume the worst about people. Use your head and heart to seek out the best in everyone. You might be surprised how good people can be.

• Caring is like the quantum mechanics observation effect. The very act of caring changes the world. When many care, the universe changes.

• The more you experience, understand, see and feel, the more you forgive.

• Give a shit. It all pretty much matters.

• Q: What is the meaning of life?
•  A: It is the very act of asking and pondering that question.

• The fastest way to seeing your hopes and dreams come to fruition is to help others achieve theirs.

• Everyday is another chance to get it right.

Cheers, everyone.