Taking a Chance on Love

Each time I go to Michigan to visit Mother at Grand Court,I find myself thinking about mortality,naturally enough. I become more aware of my own physical deterioration and reflect upon whether I've made much of my life so far. This time the weather was so perfect, the days so crisply beautiful that I had the strange thought: What if these are my last days, a gift from God before some unknown end? As I took walks around my brother's well groomed small town neighborhood, the sense was intensified by the unnatural perfection of the lawns and gardens. Of course, it is a truism that I am in my last days, however many they may be.

When I arrived at Grand Court on a Friday night, I was told to sit anywhere at Mother's accustomed table because "Jack is away visiting his son." At this table are usually Mary Belle, my mother's old concert companion in previous years, Norma, a spicy 94 year old, who said of my brother, "If I was younger.....!", Helen, a small bright woman with a curly gray wig and a turned up nose, and Jack, a widower who had moved in this May. I remembered meeting him in June, hearing his stories of WWII days in China as a cryptographer. Any single man gets plenty of attention among all the widows, and Jack is an outgoing person, commanding attention because his deafness discourages two way conversation and because he's a big guy with a dimply smile. As he said at one point, "I always keep the ladies in stitches."

At Saturday's noon meal he wasn't expected until late afternoon, but he appeared and Helen was like a young girl in her delight.

"Why look who's here!" she cried out, laughing and making room for him. She fussed over him, saying,"I'm so glad to see you! I'm so glad you're back."

I wasn't sure at first that they were actually a couple, but it became clear as she touched his arm and helped him with his portable oxygen and leaned in to tell him what someone had said. At supper his son came with some meds he had left behind and Helen went out after dinner to visit with him while Jack finished eating.

Only Mother and I remained at the table and Jack explained that Helen was a special lady to him.
"She's my love life," he boomed. "No sex or nothin'! Just doing things together."

By Monday, Helen wrote me a note on a scrap of placemat:"I have a secret. Jack and I are to be wed in October." When I exclaimed, she told me it was still a secret. Most of the people around the table are so deaf that a secret can be told with no one else any wiser. Also, as short term memory fades and thought processes slow down, not everyone is paying attention to conversation not directed at themselves.

After that, I became a confidant, as Helen was seated to my right. She told me that her nephew in the Army in the Middle East could not get leave to come home for the wedding. I was startled to find that she was planning such a big event. They had each been married for a considerable time, Jack for fifty six years, having lost his wife only a couple of years before. They are at least in their mid eightys if not older, with children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.

Their secret wasn't very secret . They behaved like any new loves. Jack liked to tease her, pretending to drop things into her soup or coffee. She'd giggle like a schoolgirl. After meals, they'd sit on a couch together or go to each other's apartments and do a crossword or watch a golf game.

Feelings seem to be more immediate and inhibitions drop as people age. Telling me about the music he loves, the old standards of jazz and swing, Jack said, "Some of those chords, they just get me here," pounding at his chest and tearing up. I wonder if, like Dad, his emotions were always right below the surface or if after all the years of "being a man" he has just let go.

All of them are in a life boat together. Maybe even it's a kind of end of life vacation cruise. This couple is daring to have a romance, but, even more, to promise to take care of each other when things get bad. And they will be difficult; Jack has obsructive pulmonary disease from years of smoking, Helen has diabetes, both have some memory troubles. But they are grabbing a chance to feel excited and happy for as long as they can.

Back in her room, Mother commented that some people just have to have a partner. She herself hasn't felt that way. She said she couldn't imagine caring for anyone but Dad. I believe her, the more I hear about how they felt up to the end of his life, how he kept marvelling at his luck finding someone so beautiful and so right for him, how, even in his worst days, they kissed. It is strange and ironic that I have lived through such a big revolution in attitudes toward marriage and find myself envying the certainty and passion of those virgins. I think too much choice may have left me needy and obsessed with the idea of a perfect relationship.

After the last meal of my visit, there were hugs all around, a big strong one from Jack. I wished Helen all the best, and prayed the best I knew how that they would get a good period of time to enjoy their happiness. I hope to see them when I come again.

Blakelock Moon

This is a poem I wrote at Camp one night when I went down to the Pavalon alone to see the moon. During the week we wrote haikus in a class and I extrapolated some of the material.


Blakelock Moon

Blakelock moon
peers through black
cut paper leaves on flat trees,
crazed like a canvas.

The moon's strong gaze
in the soft bowled sky
spreads white light
where I walk
pulled upward,
unable to look away.

Haikus

The moon behind leaves
Flat trees like cut black paper
I am pulled upward.

White hole in dark sky,
Strong white eye in my window,
Moon pulls me upward.


Sun stripes down through trees.
The knowledge of perfection
Carries with it loss.