Oh Our Love; I have always loved her…

I know we go back in time, we go back millennia, and to say we are eternal is to say our love is eternal; I know why she does not like me to talk about my pain because what I feel, she feels; I remember her four wisdom teeth extracted all at once–she told of how the young resident in dental surgery struggled and fought the gums, the teeth adhering when no amount of pressure would work, how the anesthesia began to wear off, how just hearing and the memory makes my stomach churn, how the resident would not give in, how he struggled even cutting a nerve to her face, finally after what seemed like hours, calling the experienced Professor, DDS, who popped them right out, and how maybe (I was a teacher) would give that resident a talking to and a poor grade. This young dentist was, after all, experienced, and never should have let such a thing go on so long. Oh, my stomach churns for her, and oh, I even now, feel her pain, I feel the enlarged cheeks, I feel the anguish in her inability to speak for several days. Oh, I cry for her, and 37 years after the fact, I feel her pain, and I have hurt so often, how she must have felt every cut, every stick of the needles, how she sat up to see if I was dying from my bleed, how she missed sleep only to go into work after three hours, and a shower, how she managed to pull off excellence in work while I was nearly dying, how she felt every stitch, how she nursed me back after being at work 9 hours, how she drove directly to the closest ER where I received IV fluid to stabilize my kidneys, how her eyes fell as she learned of the pacemaker, how she chastised me with every false alarm ride to the ER in the ambulence, and how finally there was hope in that my mood began to improve, and then the Ph.D. psychologists saying that I was gaining ground, and giving up the other Ph.D. therapist so I could focus on one, a vast improvement, and her shoulders finally after 7 years of fighting for my life, after feeling right along with me, “Don’t be so dramatic.” The struggles, for a while, must be over; only next time will it be her? and I will stand tall with her, and I will remain quiet for her, and I will not sleep until I know, and I will take care of my own medications, and I will watch the clock, and I will sit by her bedside for hour after lonely hour, and I will let relatives ignore me, and I will make countless phone calls, and I will wait for the next doctor, and I will not know what to say, or how to ask questions, and I will carry my iPhone charger so if I need to sleep in the chair beside her I can charge my phone, and I will constantly call anyone for help, and I will fight off fatigue and tears, and if it ends, and when it ends, I will feel tired, and I will try not to be so dramatic. For we go back millennia, and our Love is eternal.

With all Love, Chuck

Published by elgwyn

I was a University and college writing teacher, now retired, so I write poetry, and essays, mostly free verse poetry. I love writing. Computers, tablets, and smart phones are the norm. When one sees university campuses with students looking at phones while walking to class, one realizes writing can be blogging. I am an ordinary man writing for artistic pleasure writing, and simple taste-- blogs are an answer to high priced self-publishing. Walt Whitman had to print his paper books himself, because in 1855, and 1860 poetry did not sell. It does not sell now unless you have a Pulitzer Prize and even then the poet usually makes a living in other ways than writing. In all ages there have been writers writing out of their own needs, and blogs are an answer to get rid of high cost of self creativity. I am an older man with fewer computer skills than my daughter who has been at computers since she was three, so here I can satisfy my need to write without spending too much on self-published books. All three blogs let me reach an audience missed by books and stand a better chance to reach a wider audience. My two books, Winter from Spring, Meditations on Gratitude, as Kindle books and paperbacks did not reach as many people as I wanted, and blogs can let me avoid the printer. Layout and design is expensive. For me writing is more like the charcoal jottings of preexisting civilization made only for posterity. Blogs face two problems as I see it. They might be submerged into a chaos of too much writing, and they depend on electronic storage. Yet, how's that different from electronic books which must have specialized publication? Paper disintegrates, blogs can be physically stored and organized for posterity in data banks. All organization becomes chaos at some point, but charcoal images on cave walls still exist after the author scribbled eons ago. So what if I reach only a few interested people, but hopefully, readers will reach out to me. Writing is essential for showing the ways of culture before history knows those ways. To record each individual is essential especial for billions of people who need to know enough reading beyond pictures to save a planet. Writing without profit isn't new to me. I'm not seeking to impress the audience. Poetry in general never sells, and personal confessional, and emotional writing exists sometimes like journal writings only for the author. At least here is my hope for wider audiences. My writing is personal and informal, but my writing expresses some serious ideas like the writing of contemporary writers to rise above chaos in my own simple way, above self-absorption, a meditation, the simple writing of an ordinary man. I hope to find my own way out of my own chaos and make my record stand alone if even in electrons. Though I hope never to express nightmare in my poetry, fiction, or essays, some serious considerations are important to me after centuries of mechanized nightmare. The next decade is probably of the same failure in our world. This decade looks to be another time of diminished individuals and the next as well. We all wish peace and hope will become normal. It looks like if hope reaches each individual, not governments there is satisfaction in making means of writing available to many. My hope is for each human being to give their own expression out of the abyss. If humankind is to survive in any common way, we must each be able to express maturity and take responsibility in something beyond self. Electronic media offers people these possibilities so long as computers can store individual lives. Here people can freely see what I write and what others write. Though I hold an MFA in creative writing my simple vision never found a wide audience. I was disappointed about this earlier in my life, but now it's just what one expects of such degrees. I found happiness in family and especially in love of my wife and daughter. Writing can be more than a pastime now that I'm older. I approach seven decades living with some disappointing times, and some satisfying times. I'm like most people, and I've been married more than 37 years, and we sent a successful daughter into the world. We happily live in a country where even the poorest have food. Often as a young man when I traveled for nearly one year through Europe, where does a culture begin to feed and house so many people, and how do all these people live in harmony since World War II? Maybe it's been a question of survival. Writers can hold a little corner with blogging, blogging for harmony and peace. This is my hope. This is my question.

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