Do It Before It's Too Late

“Live as if you were to die tomorrow.”

Mahatma Gandhi

One night I had an epiphany.

My dear husband and I had bickered that evening about something so trivial, I don’t even remember it. We had made a pact once that we wouldn’t go to bed angry, but that night we didn’t kiss and make up. He went to bed and I stayed in my sunroom, reading a good book.

When I went to bed, I was still a little cranky with him, but he was fast asleep. I lay there on my side of the bed, chewing on what had been said between us. I even made it a point to keep my arms and legs to myself.

Then the thought came to mind: What if he were to die tomorrow and this is the last night I get to spend with him?

So I lay there for a little while, imagining my life without him. The more I thought, the less I cared about the thing that had annoyed me. In fact, I stopped being annoyed, period. I did what I’ve been taught to do and asked myself, how important is it? The thing we had argued about had no importance at all in the bigger picture. My perspective was entirely restored to sanity.

So I hugged him in his sleep and let everything go except love. Nothing else was important.

I wrote this poem the other day when I remembered that epiphany in the night. It’s been a number of years ago now, but I haven’t forgotten the lesson I learned. Death (or the idea of it) issues us a challenge, said author and speaker Leo Buscaglia. “It tells us not to waste time...it tells us to tell each other right now that we love each other.”

Tulips Grow After You Pick Them

Their stems arc and lengthen
as they reach for the roof
the only flower that thrives
in captivity, or maybe not
maybe they do not grow
but reach back, longing for
the bulb the root the earth
where their hearts lie

as I lie here at night longing
for the touch of your legs
twining with mine
which I never told you
while I had you here
and now it breaks my
heart.

Lethal Frosty

Frost (frôst)

1. (v.tr.) To cover with frost. To damage or kill by frost. To anger or upset.
2. (n.) A cold or icy manner. A deposit of ice crystals formed when water vapor condenses at a temperature below freezing.
3. Frôst, Robert Lee,1874-1963. American poet.

Lethal Frosty hides his vicious teeth
beneath his beauty. I hide beneath
the quilts and ponder yesterday’s news:
The frost that sparkles on the rooftops,
a lovely blanket, and those lacy crystals
on the window are harbingers of death.
Death slipped its frosty fingers
through the windows and killed a man,
age 93, in Michigan, on the same day
Robert Frost died, he who penned his epitaph:
“I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.”

I think of the lover’s quarrel beneath
the cozy bedclothes that enfold me.
My breath is white, and the glass
in the window is a jigsaw puzzle of crystals.
I lie beside you covered to the nose,
still as a chipmunk lest I wake you
and you move, stirring cold air
underneath the nest of blankets.

You sleep hard like a tired child,
unaware of me, the glassy air,
the pocket of heat in which I lie
beside your back, unaware
too of cold hard words spoken
late last night between us.
Frost damage has burned
our tender edges and killed
our fragile growth.

Trussed in my warm coffin,
I shiver at the question
of how you will treat me
when you wake up:
Will you be as frost to me?
And will I be as deeply chilled?

__________________________

Lovers' quarrels used to be detrimental to my health. I usually got suicidal over them. I couldn't bear that frosty rejection.

Then I got sober, and in the first year of recovery, God saw to it that I wasn't in a relationship. I wasn't lonely either, because lots of meetings kept my mind and body busy.

Then I met the man who would later become my husband. He was four years sober, and we went to meetings together, dating very carefully. Three times divorced, he would often tell me, "I don't know how to have a healthy relationship. Maybe if I just do everything differently, we'll have a chance."

So we learned to love each other, but it meant many battles with old behaviors and old ideas. The first time we had a lovers' quarrel, I got very nervous. But I managed to tell him how I felt, and he had mercy on me, the first of many times that man was going to have forgiveness for me over the 18 years (so far) of our relationship.

We had our heated arguments, but we tried to make up before we went to sleep at night. Sometimes it just didn't happen, because the problems went deep. That's when I wrote this poem. Worried one more time about rejection, I didn't know for certain we'd survive.

Forgiveness has been our saving grace many, many times. We had promised we would never run from each other, and sometimes that was the only thing that made us stay. God always helped one of us regain our sanity in time to forgive and go on. And when one forgives, the other becomes free to do so too.

We let go of our old ideas, and our new, sober behaviors with each other became habits that brought us back together time after time. I know for certain now that we will always survive, because forgiveness and mercy are part of our lives.