I Remember

© Robin Easton – All Rights Reserved

Tenderness Alights

I REMEMBER

You sat beside me,
clinging to life,
only weeks left to live,
yet, you were more alive than ever.

I listened as you tried to make sense of life and death,
your eyes so beautiful and sad
as you tried to embrace all that you felt.

I followed the trail of tears down your face
as you asked, "Am I rationalizing...
to think that true happiness comes from simple things?
Or should I have done more with my life?
Or, could life really be about the simple things?"

My heart tugged with tenderness
as I reached for your hand.
You eagerly leaned forward,
your eyes pleading with mine
hoping for understanding,
compassion,
and something wise
that would offer peace.

I softly spoke through tears
and my own vulnerable heart.
"No, you’re not rationalizing.
Simple things are the pure essence...
of who we are.
I think the best of us is always found
in the simple things...
like this moment
right now,
just you and me."
You took a deep shuddering sigh
and broke down,
face cradled in hands,
you cried.
I slowly reached out,
pulled you toward me,
and forehead to forehead
we cried
together.

I wanted to hold you, heart and soul,
gently within my own heart,
and keep you safe
forever untouched by death.

But, one day the phone rang
and you were gone in the night.
My grieving was a solitary thing,
wandering mountainsides for hours,
still feeling you
with me.
You always encouraged me
and loved my wild free spirit.
You once ask me,
"How can one scrawny woman
be so beautiful,
and yet, so damned tough."
I felt so proud of myself,
and loved you for seeing and valuing
my inner strength.

Days later,
after you were gone
your question floated through my mind,
"Does happiness come from simple things?"

I never got to share with you
my list of 'simple things,'
you asked me to write.
We ran out of time,
you and I
and our simple things.
So, I share it now,
dear friend, and pray
you will hear my heart.
As I traveled back through the years of my own life,
pondering all I could remember,
the most poignant and meaningful memories,
the things that came quickly to mind
were the simplest of things
that still linger in my heart today.

I talked with you there on the mountain,
and told you all the things I remembered,
the simple things that keep my soul alive.

I told you how I barely remember the times I had money,
the times I owned a huge house,
a fancy truck, a motorcycle,
camper, tractor, and vast acres of land.
That’s all a meaningless blur.
All gone, now.

But, I clearly remember a child in love
with Maine's summer days,
lying flat on my back
engulfed in the heady scent of freshly cut grass,
blissful, timeless moments
as I drifted across blue sky,
billowing with towering white clouds.

I remember catching tiny salamanders
hidden under rocks in Ledge Brook,
then letting them go minutes later,
worried they might die.

I remember hot August nights,
fireflies blinking and glowing,
tiny lights of passion.
My heart ached from such beauty.
I wanted to die to this world
and fly away on wings of light.

I remember the day…
Dad and I climbed Streaked Mountain,
only the two of us.
In silence, we stood side by side
on that mountain top.
Pink sun slowly faded to luminous gray.
It was our time alone.

I remember kinder moments with Mom,
intensely precious moments,
held close like sacred jewels,
for kindness did not easily come to my mother.
Yet, even through her pain she was full of life's beauty,
in love with nature's most intimate details,
always eager to point them out
to me.

I remember walking barefoot
with Mom in rain-clean grass.
Her smile radiant with awe and wonder.
My heart burst that day.
She was happy.
So was I.
We were happy together.

I remember swimming in Lake Pennesseewassee
for hours on end,
laughing with my four brothers and one sister.
Sun warmed skin and sparkling water
still course through my veins.

I remember fall days of brilliant leaves,
fluorescent orange, flame red and glowing yellow,
colors my soul became.
Dry leaves crunched underfoot as I walked to school.
Books and desk awaited.
I shrank back,
lingered and lingered.
Maybe the leaves would absorb me
and I too could blow away on cool autumn wind,
a far more noble pursuit than school.

I remember the first, single snowflake I ever saw.
Four years I’d been on Planet Earth.
This was a most important discovery.
My eyes could see back then
the intricate pattern of miracles
woven together in crystalline form
by the soul of God.

I remember a father who gently taught me
how to use a bow and arrow,
how to paddle a canoe for miles,
without ever taking my paddle from the water,
I remember the exotic scent of waterlilies
as my canoe glided amongst them in the marsh.
I remember when Dad taught me
how to recognize star-flower root,
wintergreen berry,
and other wild edibles...
just in case I had to survive.
The most important lesson of all,
he taught me how to face fear.

I remember making peace with my mother
forty years after I left her womb.
Our tears of love finally ran together.
We understood each other that day.
She is always with me.

I remember my first real love.
I felt I had surely slipped through the gates of Heaven
until he became ill and pain set in.
But still, I remember
unforgettable passion
and love.

I remember time alone
in an ancient rainforest
filled with giant trees,
colorful birds,
pounding rain,
and only life in front of me.
Nowhere to go,
only to be
me.

I remember our gnarled old apple trees
bursting into ecstatic pink bloom,
sturdy trees I climbed a hundred times.
I remember tossing whirligig seedpods from maple trees
high into the air and watching them twirl to the ground
like tiny magical helicopters.
I remember unexpected, warm smiles
from those I love.
Still they kiss my soul.

I remember the smell of snow, coming soon.
I remember summer's lush garden,
sun-warmed Earth beneath my bare feet,
and robin's first spring song.

Yes, dear friend,
I remember, most…
and maybe only
the simple things
like my sacred time with you.

(c) Robin Easton