|synaptic disunion|

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

winter and spring...

I don't know how long she's lived there on Lacrosse, one street over from us, but if you walk by her small muted yellow house with it's northern Magnolia tree, blooming white this time of year, you might see her standing behind the glass of her screen door. With a hint of a smile crossing her white paper-thin skinned face, and her thick nightgown, if it's after 6pm, she'll wave at you. I can only imagine what she thinks to herself as I walk our one year old under her Magnolia tree, plucking one singular bloom, and offering it to him to smell.

A few years ago, she'd walk outside and great us, asking our names in her shaky voice, talking about the tree, and smiling at us. Those days I'd see another person inside, a man in a recliner, the flicker of the television bouncing off his peaceful empty face and white hair. These days, the chair is empty, and yet, she still smiles, and waves. I imagine they were happy in their old age. I imagine they have children, grandchildren, and possibly even great grandchildren coming to visit them before he passed, though I've never seen anyone there but them...and yet she still smiles, and waves.

What will I...we...be like when we're that old? I have hopes, fears, and also dreams...as we all do. Life isn't easy. Time is unrelenting and unforgiving. Things get in the way sometimes and we let things go far too long. But we are to important to let slide apart. I won't let it happen. I hope...I have to hope...that the lady on Lacrosse was happy with her lover until death did part them. I have to hope that she's even happy still, knowing he's at peace.

We still walk by her house. She still stands there, empty recliner behind her, television off, smiling and waving. I smile...and wave back.

: toadman : at Tuesday, May 06, 2008 |