Supper was a quiet affair last night. Just as we were sitting down to eat the phone rang and I knew before I picked it up that this would be the unwelcome news I had been expecting all weekend. A friend and neighbor had given it her all, but cancer is a formidable foe and not everyone wins the battle. The hopes and wishes of so many people had been denied. She was gone.
I came back to the table but our appetites were no longer what they had been. Instead we sat in silence. Thinking. Remembering. Contemplating. Filled with empathy for those who would miss her the most.
Actually, I felt that I had spent most of the past few days with her. For sure, she had never been far from my thoughts. We had been high school classmates together. We had both married young and our first babies were born the same year, and grew up to go to school together too. We had done birthday parties and skating practices and hockey games and grad meetings together. There was a lot of history there. And yet, we had only reached our fifties, there should have been lots more history to come.
Nearly everything I had done over the weekend had brought my thoughts back to her. Our farm is halfway between where they live and land that they farm, so seeing them go around our corner was a common thing. As I worked in my garden I recalled talking about gardening with her. As I mowed my lawn I remembered us both vowing to have a dandelion free lawn some day. I certainly haven’t managed that goal yet, I wondered if she had ...
My thoughts were with her again while I was out doing the chores. She worked hard, and she was proud of this. She wasn’t a farm wife because she married a farmer; she was a farmer herself. She was a full partner on their farm: she knew every inch of land, could run the machinery, work with the cattle, and had a full understanding of the books. I understand completely how good it feels to earn the right to call yourself a farmer. Everyone who knew her knows that she had earned that right.
And yet, the farm would have meant nothing to her if she hadn’t shared it with her husband. In a world where the term “marriage” has become blurred and out of focus, theirs left no doubt, no gray areas. They loved each other, trusted each other, were devoted to each other. They were a team, a package deal. We should all be so lucky. I find myself hoping that having been a part of something so special will help carry him through the dark days ahead.
That, and their children, and grandchildren. And parents. And brothers and sisters. And neighbors and friends.
The only good that comes out of times like these is that we are forced to re-examine the miracle that life really is. If there is anything in this world that we take for granted, it is drawing our next breath: this is a good time to stop and acknowledge just how precious a gift that is. Discover, again, the sweet scent of rain on the wind, experience the bubbling laughter of a baby, witness how every sunset is prettier than the one the day before.
And speaking of sunsets ... our day was coming to an end and since supper wasn’t holding our interest we may as well go out and finish the day’s work ...
We started across the yard in silence, but then my farmer turned to me and held out his hand. I laughed, and teased him, a mushy gesture like that coming from such a macho man, but I took the hand he offered. Even through chore gloves the connection was warm and good.
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