Dear Barry,

Dear Barry,

Today is Veteran's Day.  In South Carolina, county offices have the day off but schools do not.  So I kissed my wife goodbye and came up to spend some rare relaxed time on Blogger.

Yesterday was different.  I was rushed.  I only had time to look five or six posts.  Yours, of course, was one of them...the first one I always check.  And you had written about putting your affairs in order.   I stopped there and never looked at anything else.  I wanted to leave a comment, but couldn't.  Then I was going to email you.  But couldn't.  Last night, trying to sleep, I thought about you and Linda and Lindsey.  This morning I turned on the computer, went to Blogspot, and just stared at the screen.

Finally, I decided that I had to write something.  And I hope that an open letter to you is not too embarassing but, I think, probably not.  One of the things I admire and honor in you is your amazing ability to journal so openly about your cancer.  Your ability to both fight a strong fight while simultaneously accepting and preparing for losing it.  And for finding joy in life, along the way, and sharing those moments with us as well. 

I'm struggling this morning to tell you what I feel without sounding stupid or maudlin or just plain weird.  One of the things I want to say is, "I love you."  And Linda and Lindsey.  It's a bit odd because when Bagman, Butler, and I first started blogging last year, Bagman was really enjoying flirting with the women.  In fact, he was kind of shocked when he discovered that some old guy from Scarborough was following us.  But over the months, I have grown to feel very close to you.  In fact, last month, I even mentioned to Karen, "Why don't we drop everything and take a month and drive up to Canada."  But with a new grandson and another on the way, we have affairs of our own to keep in order. 

The other thing I want to say to you is really problemmatic.  Because the timing is wrong.  But, then again, it will never be right.  I want to say, "Goodbye."  

I hope that you, or anyone else who reads this, doesn't interpret that as negative or fatalistic or depressing.  It's a kind of putting affairs in order for me.  Over the years, I have lost many friends and family.  Three years ago when my mother-in-law passed, it was sobering to realize that I was now at the head of the queue.  A few I was blessed to be able to be with.  Too often, however, it was unexpected and I was left with things I wish I had said.  Like "I love you" and "Fare well." 

So I hope it is not terrible form to say goodbye to you this morning, even though I fully expect to continue reading your adeventures for at least the two years the doctors have given you on the high side.  And none of us ever really know.  Today might even be my time.  I assume not.  God!  Wouldn't it be aweful I dropped dead at the end of this sentence and you never got to read it!  I can imagine the scene:

First Paramedic:  "He's trying to say something."

Mark:  "Push the Publish Post button."

Second Paramedic:  "He must be delerious."
First Paramedic:  "Clear!"

Anyhow, when I kissed Karen this morning as she was heading off to work, I held her a little longer than usual.  Because of you, my friend. 

I will never forget you.  Whenever it does come my time to leave the front of the line and get on the ride, I know I will be thinking of you and what you have taught me.  Courage, sympathy for others, awareness, dignity, humor.  

Of course, what I really need to learn is to shut up and write shorter blogs.

I love you, Barry.  Goodbye.

Mark

PS:  See you tomorrow.

   

The Gray Monkey

A few years back, I used to be part of an extremely active email poetry group and one of the finer poets, Eve, was talking once about the fear of death and dying. Most of us, I think, for the most part (using “most” twice and now three times in the same sentence)…and then losing my train of thought completely. Old poets never die; they just digress away. Or metaphor away. Where the hell was I?!!

Oh yes, Eve. And my thought that most of us, most of the time, handle fear of death and dying pretty well. We’ve developed lots of techniques to deal with it. And if I have the courage, I’m thinking of talking about some of that in the next few blogs.

BAGMAN: I’d rather watch an hour long video of a baby making vowel sounds!

Anyhow, Eve once said that she never dwelt on death or worried about it much, but that sometimes in the middle of the night, she would suddenly wake up and find “the gray monkey sitting heavily on her chest.” Hence the title of this series, if, indeed it becomes a series. I read once that the most difficult subjects for married couples to talk honestly about were: 1. Money. 2. Death. 3. Sex (or maybe it was Politics).

BAGMAN: Let’s talk about Sex.

BUTLER: We’re not a married couple.

BAGMAN: We argue enough to be a married couple.

BUTLER: But we’re not attracted to each other.

BAGMAN: I thought we were talking about married couples.

I’m doing to ignore the B-boys for the moment although getting through the changing cycles of marriage is also a good topic for another series someday down the road. And this will be short anyway today. I really just wanted to share a gray monkey poem I wrote a while back, although it doesn’t contain the word “gray” or the word “monkey.”

Cairn

(Definition: A conical heap of stones built as a monument or as a marker, sometimes used by hikers to indicate a trail they are following)

I

piled

gathered

words of stone

beside this path

before moving further on.

I woke beside the ash of last night’s warmth,

watching how the gap between lonely and alone

has grown. Broke camp sensing something lost,

something small, perhaps a single word, a thought.

My early fears of avalanche or sudden storm

assuaged, replaced by watching only pebbles

rolling one by one away. Another grain of sand

eroded from my brain, leaving me forever less.

Ahead, the trail appears to disappear in fog,

I fear there will be fewer stones to find,

to mark where I have been

or maybe I will cease

remembering

what stones

are

for.

Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll continue on this theme. I think. I’ll have to do it alone since Bagman just went out, slamming the door after him.