Before They're Gone

I found this piece in my portfolio, written shortly after I joined. I'll have to write, "Now that he's Gone."

         I dread the day death looms before me, inevitable as the changing tides of life. My mom and dad married in 1946, and though it seems as if they drive each other crazy, it's hard to imagine one without the other. The quandary provokes a constant source of contemplation with my brothers; who needs whom more? They're more than husband and wife, more than mother and father.

         When I reflect on their love, inspiration and admiration interrupt the even tempo of my heartbeat. My eyes swim, my brain expands. How do they remain together, riding the bumper-cars of life?

         What would I tell my parents before they pass? I appreciate their steadfast belief, assuring me I can accomplish whatever I aspire to.

         My eighty-four-year-old dad helps support me by sending money to cover my medical expenses. I thank him every month for his generosity. Is it enough? Talking on the phone, I recall tender moments, leaving the tough times out. I bring to mind the time he scraped snow from a woodland pond, so my brother and I could skate.

         Every Valentine's Day, he brought home heart-shaped boxes of candy. It thrilled me. My heart fluttered, and my emotions surged. My stoic dad loved me. These small things I remember.

         He once told me: "The best things in life happen to people who smile, don't ever stop." I keep a half-smile on my lips whenever I go out. One day a woman asked me, "Why are you smiling? It looks like you know the secret of life."

         In the aftermath of my dad's first heart-attack, his stoicism softened. He said, "I wasted it all." His insight jolted me. I try to cherish every moment, taking nothing for granted

         My mom celebrates life; she never complains, despite her illness. I hope to emulate her courage in my ending years. She taught me to be a lady, to hold my head high, and fold my hands in my lap when sitting. I learned the proper etiquette for all social situations. It serves me well in life. People wonder at my politeness, something that's fast fading from our society.

         She kick-started my writing career, when she helped with a school assignment. The recollection remains sharp, as if time crystallized the event. I can still see me standing in the kitchen, expressing my frustration, explaining that my teacher asked for a poem demonstrating alliteration. Mom told me to focus my thoughts on something familiar. The poem I wrote for my dog earned me an A+.

         She held me together during my first marriage. She called every Saturday, and listened to my litany of heartbreaks inflicted. She surprised me, considering she is a staunch Catholic, when she suggested a divorce after thirteen years of watching me suffer. She helped me sweep away the ugliness, my dad's unspoken support vivid in his eyes.

         I hear their voices wavering, so with every phone call, I relate affectionate and sometimes quirky stories of growing up on Taber Road. I like to hear them laugh. I emphasize the moments that enriched and focused my life.

         Now, my thoughts exist on virtual paper, my devotion and appreciation recorded. I want to shelter my parents from the world, so no further strife disrupts them. They've endured and conquered enough for one lifetime.

         For every loving act, I thank my parents. When their sails unfurl, carrying them to the great beyond, I pray my devotion steadies the eddying tides of transition.