Futurelawyer

Catch Me, If You Can.

He raced toward the end of his life,

as though his life depended on it.

He hurried towards his goal,

Blinders fixed,

Pupils dilated,

Huffing and puffing.

What did he seek?

Was he afraid of what lay behind?

Did he long for what lay ahead?

As he traveled the road,

He realized that he could not see

the roses or the other flowers

along the way.

Their blurred outlines

gave suggestions

of beauty,

But he had always

seen them

on the periphery

of his voyage.

Then,

unexpectedly,

she appeared before him.

No matter how he tried to escape,

she stayed with him,

Tugging,

Pulling,

Cautioning him

against his frenzied course.

Stop and see,

she said.

Wait for me,

she said.

I will be here

if you stay with me.

He had never felt such power

in one so gentle,

and he responded in kind.

His inclination

to speed ahead

was tempered by her gentle, loving voice.

He stopped to listen.

Just as suddenly,

the roses and the flowers

came into focus,

and the beauty of the world

became apparent.

His breathing slowed,

and,

as he turned,

She looked at him

and smiled.

He was blind.

Now, he could see.

Post Pandemic Blues.

We just spent three years with a preoccupation with death. We discovered something we already knew. When death calls, there isn't anything we humans can do about it. We can run around with schemes to dodge the inevitable; but, if it is our time, we will succumb anyway. Maybe the answer is to ignore it, and just live each day to the fullest? Why worry about something that is inevitable? Let's all refuse to accept the alleged wisdom of those who don't really know or understand anymore than we do? If the Pandemic taught us anything, it should be that we are all living in ignorance together. Let's not pretend anymore that we are in control of anything?

Put your mask on,

they said, as he entered the store,

and use that sanitizer

by the door.

You need to be careful,

said the flyer posted next to the counter.

The clerk looked like something

out of an alien invasion movie,

wearing a plastic shield

that reflected the light

from the garish fluorescent bulbs

in the ceiling.

He stared at big Xs on the ground,

taped with duct tape

in the color red,

which he supposed meant

it was serious.

Of course, he thought,

it was serious.

Death stalked him every day.

It was one heartbeat away,

or one fall down the stairs,

or one senseless act of violence.

Death was his companion.

He had learned to welcome its breathing

in the night.

Now, death was everywhere.

It screamed at him from the headlines

in the newspaper.

It followed him around,

like a puppy at Christmas.

In the early morning,

death spoke to him,

only after he spent some time

with the coffee.

But, he always knew it was there,

around the corner.

It eyed his wife as well,

speaking under its breath,

with an evil voice

and a muffled rejoinder

about the inevitable suffering

that goes with being human.

As he ran from the store,

ripping the mask from his face,

and screaming in anguish,

he realized that death would be there

anyway.

He resolved to live today

with a better companion.

Life tended to be easier to talk to.

Life was a happier brother in arms.

Life was his present.

His future

would have to take care of itself. 

Into Every Life, A Succession Of Happy And Sad.

Yesterday was the sixth anniversary of Jacquelyn's death. It is hard to believe that life can bring such low points, and then follow with such ecstatic happiness as I am experiencing with Diane these days. But, it is the human condition. It is the reality of our fragile human lives. So, treat life's tragedies as a precursor to happiness. Treat happiness as a fragile thing that must be savored before the pendulum swings back. Just live the best you can, no matter the circumstances. What other options are there?

Everywhere I go,

everywhere I look,

everything I see,

reminds me of you.

You chase me down the highway,

follow me into every room,

stare at me from every wall,

and talk to me every day.

I run away from you

at the mall,

I wonder if you are behind every corner.

I get in the car,

and drive to nowhere,

in order to escape the memory of you.

I saw you at the car wash the other day,

across the street from the record store,

where we wandered the aisles

of forgotten music.

I tried to remember where you were

when I saw you last.

You invade my sleep.

I feel your warm body next to mine,

until I grasp the cold pillow

in the dark.

I make the bed in the morning,

to remind me of you.

I try to be quiet

when I leave the room

while you are sleeping,

until I remember that you aren’t there anymore.

Sometimes I try to escape the memories;

But, then, I remember that I want them in my life.

Remember and forget.

Forget and remember.

Life is harder than it used to be.

Waiting In Hospitals.

Sooner or later, we all spend time waiting on loved ones in a hospital. It is a helpless feeling. For us control freaks, it is intolerable. 

He didn’t like hospitals.

Imposing buildings filled with humans

who cared;

but they didn’t know anything.

The building facades were foreboding.

What did they hide inside?

He stepped inside,

walked on the carpeted floors,

and passed comfortable furniture

and soothing music.

It felt like a furniture store,

trying vainly to look like a home.

The nurses and doctors resembled aliens

in a landscape populated by green gowns

and white masks;

Metal jewelry hung from their necks,

and loudspeakers screamed like a sailor,

trying to keep calm

in the storm.

Disembodied voices coming from everywhere,

gave instructions to strangers

whose lives hung in the balance.

He told himself that this elaborate show

was a necessary preparation

for the inevitable.

He tried to remember the mantra

that we all die.

Instead, he only remembered that he was in a hospital,

and he didn’t know whether she would come out again.

The Twilight Children.

I love this time of year. It brings up memories of childhood holidays. We went to school, and got home in the late afternoon. It was our time. Until dinner was served, we were outside riding bikes, playing in yards, socializing with other kids, and generally looking forward to magical Xmas mornings. We were the twilight children.

He watched the children playing in the street.

They wore Christmas sweaters

and reindeer headgear.

It was chilly in December,

and the day was ending.

Soon, the street would come alive

with Christmas lights,

and a parade of cars on the street

would pass by.

He faced another winter,

perhaps his last,

with an increasing excitement.

In his youth,

Christmas caused sleepless nights,

and anticipation,

and wonder and joy.

For a long time,

Christmas had become

just another holiday,

to remember past loss,

and past failure,

and a time for greedy people

and greedy salespeople.

He faced this twilight, however

with a renewed focus.

Something about the approaching winter

brought back the excitement of his youth.

The long stretch of years

was bending around on itself,

and twilight became the harbinger

of death and renewal.

He didn’t have many more Christmases

to be excited.

He knew that this twilight

was for the little boy

he once was.

He was, once again,

one of the twilight children,

and he meant to look forward

to the coming dawn.

The Holidays Aren't A Joyful Time For Everyone.

Every year, about this time, Facebook reminds me that it isn't just obituaries that obscure the real truth behind grief. It also reminds us of the bad times, as well as the good ones. The death of a spouse is pretty high up on the life experiences that we wish no one had to endure. Diane and I have both experienced it, and I think it has made us better spouses for each other. We recognize the frailness of human relationships and life. Around this time six years ago, I was enduring Jacquelyn's death, as Diane had her husband a year or so earlier. As I faced the task of writing an obituary for Jacquelyn, it occurred to me that many aspects of our lives aren't meant for Facebook or the news. We live alone, and, when we die, our spouses live on alone. Of course, Diane and I are proof that the human spirit doesn't die, and that happiness and joy can still be found in what remains of our lives. So, once a year, I will republish this poem during the holiday season, so that those of us who are undergoing the grieving process can know that life isn't over, and joy is certainly around the corner. This dichotomy is as human as it gets. Get out there, and live.

Obituary.

I wrote your obituary today.

I told the truth

But not the whole truth.

I wrote the truth that we all tell each other

and others,

and post on Facebook walls

and in Newspapers.

I didn’t write the truth we keep in our hearts.

I didn’t write about the battles we fought together

and alone.

I didn’t write about the secrets we kept from others,

and from ourselves.

I didn’t write about the truths we humans

don’t want others to know.

I wrote about your accomplishments.

I wrote about the love others had for you.

I wrote about the public face

we all show the world.

But, I didn’t write about your incandescent eyes.

I didn’t write about your caring soul.

I didn’t write about the wry tilt of your head,

when I was being ridiculous.

I didn’t write about the words we spoke

in the night.

I didn’t write the truths we admitted to each other

in the early morning light.

I didn’t write about our sins, our faults, or our failings.

I didn’t write about the daily struggles we faced,

in a world consumed by desire and evil.

I wanted to write about the heartache of a string of days without you.

I wanted to express the pain of loss.

I wanted to tell the world that you were the best person I ever knew.

I only told them what they wanted to hear.

On The Day After Thanksgiving.

After a wonderful day with family, and turkey, and football, some of us are shopping the Black Friday sales, in person or online, and some of us are having the post big dinner crash. Deciding to be grateful for another day is a choice. Choose wisely.

He opened his eyes,

and felt the pain

in his shoulders,

and his back,

and his knees.

It was wonderful.

He struggled to the edge of the bed,

and draped his legs over the side,

as he strained to sit up,

waiting for the blood to rush from his head

to his feet.

It was wonderful.

He stood up,

staggered to the bathroom,

and looked into the mirror

at the grizzled image

of an old man,

with a belly made for Santa Claus,

and eyes bloodshot

from lack of sleep.

It was wonderful.

He had a cup of coffee,

kissed his wife hello

spoke his good morning

in a plaintive voice,

that belied his tiredness.

It was wonderful.

She held him close,

and whispered in his ear

that she loved him,

no matter what,

She gave him courage

to meet the day,

and the devils,

and the devious,

and the proud,

and the loud,

and the awful,

and the mean spirited,

and the creatures of the night.

It was wonderful.

Have A Happy Thanksgiving...But, Remember That Some Of Our Fellow Humans Won't.

As we gather today to celebrate another Thanksgiving, I have begun another tradition. I published this poem last year, and I might continue it. My reasoning is simple. We all have Thanksgivings that are not happy, and are marked with bad times, as I was the first Thanksgiving after the death of Jacquelyn, or SWMBO, as I lovingly referred to her. The poem's theme is that we should give  thanks regardless of our personal situation. The death of a spouse is a terrible thing. But, sooner or later, life can, and will, turn on a dime, and joy will find us again. I found that joy with Diane, and these are the best days of our lives. Thanksgiving will be what you make of it. Give thanks with the knowledge that fate will always bring happiness in the future.

 

He sat at the table,

grateful for another year;

but the empty seats and quiet house

reminded him of Thanksgiving days gone by.

The turkey tasted the same.

The TV blared the same football sounds,

and the house,

though quiet,

was populated by tables and chairs

that had seen it all.

For a moment in time,

he was transported to a day

when the house was filled

with people,

who now spent the day in other locations,

spread out among the only ones

who remembered her.

He looked at old photographs

of smiling people,

mouthing words of thanks,

for another year,

and another meal,

and another prayer

for lonely fellow travelers

on this earthly marble.

Her photograph

surveyed the new proceedings;

and,

he hoped,

blessed the new participants;

he wanted to reach inside the picture frame,

and drag her back

from wherever God had taken her.

He only whispered a silent prayer

that his new tradition

would hold back the tears,

and that the ghosts of turkeys from the past

wouldn’t sit at every holiday table,

until he was just a photograph.

A Change Of Seasons. Another Birthday.

First, thanks to everyone for the kind birthday wishes. It is nice to be reminded that I made another one. Second, as I am enjoying living through another change of seasons, I am hoping for many more; but conscious that the ride could end at any time. Do we have unrealistic expectations? Or, should we clean our glasses, and see life for what it is? Reality can bite. Or, it can illuminate. I will always choose the light.

I looked for the changing leaves.

I saw only green leaves

and palm fronds.

I waited for a cloudy day,

and a bright sun

illuminated me.

I looked for change

in the news,

and the same stories

touched my heart,

and torched it.

I wanted change

in the work,

and the same problems

kept crossing the threshold

of my office

and my life.

I looked for change in my lovers,

and each of them

left,

of their own accord,

or not.

I wanted different seasons,

and I got the same weather

every day.

Finally,

I looked into the mirror,

and realized that the change I sought

was staring back at me.

#PoetryFriday - It Feels Like Victory.

I suppose this will become an annual thing. I wrote this to celebrate another birthday, and am revisiting it this year. I don't know how many birthdays I have left. But, I have this one.

I am 76 today.

It feels like victory.

I have taken my medication.

I walked downstairs.

I made it to my chair.

It feels like victory.

I am joined in life

by my friends

and those who love me.

I have cast aside

the ones who don’t,

and they aren’t in the room.

It feels like victory.

I remember a young soldier,

full of himself,

and a young student,

preparing for a life lived in service.

I remember wars and death and lost lovers,

and tragedy.

I remember triumph and joy.

It feels like victory.

Every joint and muscle

in my body

aches;

but, I can still feel the breeze,

and breathe the air.

It feels like victory.

My clothes don’t fit anymore.

The trim young soldier

can no longer wear the uniform.

My ears can’t hear anything

in the upper registers,

and hair grows in places

it never did before.

But, it feels like victory.

Don’t cry for me

if I die today.

I had many days

in which I didn’t.

I lived many days

beyond my expiration date.

It is a victory.