Last Wednesday

How long ago was last Wednesday? When he headed to the shower for the day and died that morning. How long ago was that? The fog clears. Last Wednesday was real. Is he in the ground now? After 52 years as we? Did he die first? Is home waiting and will I be sleeping single until I have my last Wednesday? I don’t want to mad at you but, damn it, I am. No, I am not going to Alaska to be with Bob and Judy because they want me to go there and heal. No, I am not going to move back East and leave Yuma. Yuma is home now. At least, it was until you up and died on me. It was until Last Wednesday. I sat by a lake today and felt sorry for myself. Sorry for myself because you died. Sorry that I will smell you and hear you and sense you everywhere and know each time that you are gone. Sorry that it came so damn quick. Fifty-two years gone. Gone. Just like that. What was life like before you and I became something where we were more one than two? Why am I the one here and you the one there? I am glad it wasn’t me that went first. You don’t know where the hell your socks are. You don’t know which brand of tuna to buy or when to get the dog his shots. You would be lost without me. I am glad it was not me that went first. The kids are doing okay. Jim went back East. He says he is doing alright but he has a bit to go until he gets to alright. He loved you more than he said, more than he knew, and more than you ever thought. Mary is the strong one. She wants me to move in with her and to live there with them. I will stay a few weeks but I am not living with her or anybody else. I will live alone and get used to it. So I sat by a lake today and felt sorry for myself. Just sat there and tried hard not to cry but I cried. Sat there and pretended just to be looking at the water and the ducks and the day ahead. I guess I wasn’t too good at just pretending because a guy came over and asked if I was alright. A guy about the kids age. I told him about you and that you died Last Wednesday. I said I lost you. Lost you. Go figure. You left. I lost much more than you. I lost part of me. I lost my friend, my partner, my mate, my life. Lost a bunch Last Wednesday when you died early. So I told him about you and the kids and Yuma and a bunch of other things. It was nice to share. It was nice to talk. It was nice that he asked me if everything is alright. Then he left. He left, too. Just like you. Only he could come back and go again and I wouldn’t really care. I care about you. I miss you. I love you. Why did you have to go and die on me? Why did Last Wednesday come so soon?

(I went from a walk one morning about years ago. A woman sat on a bench overlooking a small lake. I waved as I walked by…she waved back. A social thing. Polite. Per-functionary. She sat. I continued around the lake. Felt her. It is an energy thing. Felt she was hurting. Something deep. Something very deep. As I continued around the lake, the feel of her drew me back. Drew me to approach the bench and ask if she was alright. She said yes but didn’t believe it anymore than I did. I stood there and waited. She finally told me that she lost her husband last Wednesday. I sat. She shared. I left. I wrote.

Just another walk. Just another talk. Just another last Wednesday.)