Through Katharine and through you

Joel and Katharine at the AIS AES Reunion, Washington, DC, June 18, 2005.

I count my blessings and I see
we glow from beneath grief's bruising.
I am full and I am hollow.
Less philosophically: I am heartbroken. I'm at a loss.
Words can only begin to tell the story of Katharine and Joel;
We lived so richly in touch, in faith, in murmurs and in taste -
and in happy silence.
I will tell you what were her last words to me.
But first I will paraphrase them:
"Stay in love! Live it up!"
And then I will go back to thousands and thousands of words;
Hours and hours of words: Three years.
And 3 years in India, 36 years ago; 1969.
Katharine blushing; Joel bluffing: both so, so shy.
She came to me once, among the boulders behind the school, pursued by yet another Wrong Guy - and curled up against me.
Oh, warm, unexpected, gin-tinged thrill:
a rapture of comfort and joy; two innocent creatures,
worthy of Rodin; barely moving: so safe.
On the walk back to civilization we clung to each other,
arm in arm, even under streetlights.
We spoke very little, if at all: What did we know?
So we kissed just a little, in the shadows;
Dumbstruck, good night.
Reeling home I found her gift in the pocket of my Nehru jacket:
That chain-bound silver Rupee, which had so lately graced her neck - reminded me; branded me, warmed me and melted me. And it brought me the best of good fortune.
Truth to tell, Katharine and I were too young then to couple up.
I suffered the agonies of attraction, the poetry of longing, the paralyzing ecstasy of brief, brief conversation.
Good friends, glancing.
Overlooked in the glare, sparks were flying,
landing in tinder and smouldering.
I parted with the Great Katharine of India - and other great friends - in mid-term, Grade 11.
My family began a decade-long vigil: breast cancer was claiming the life of Betty Jane Brooks Baird, my mother.
Resilience, too, is a force of nature.
And youth will emerge fertile, even in misery.
So, distanced and sort-of Cyrano-like, but on my own behalf,
I sent long letters.
And Katharine wrote back!
A woman of letters, of turns of phrase
and French curves and cursive and candour!
Love, Katharine, Love, Joel. Love, Katharine, Love Joel.
We practiced love.
And Landon McKenzie Pearson, bless your squirrely-away-ways, you kept those letters safe.
Katharine read them, and reminded me of our exchange
Over and over, in new letters.
Aug. 22, 1980. I was married.
September 8, 1982. We were both in marriages.
Then email.
November 18, 2004 I was married again.
April 6, 2005. She again mentions those letters -
and a June reunion.
I tell her I'm suddenly, inexplicably, honestly single.
She says she's sorry.
I tell her don't be; I'll see you in June.
April 9, 2005. I write Katharine a letter, once again, in ink.
April 10, 2005. She writes me a letter, in ink.
Les billets doux sont si doux, pour toujours.
More emails. More phone calls. Every doggone day.
June 16, 2005. Washington, D.C. We steam up time's windows - and then throw them open to fresh, fervent, fragrant air.
The world approves.
July 9, 2005. New York City. I declare my love.
July 12, 2005, She tells me to fill up her dance card.
July 29, 2005. Katharine flies to Virginia, flies into my arms.
She declares her love.
She gives me her silver anklet that I wear on my wrist always.
She quotes Alice Munro: "We are all better when we are loved."
Quebec, Vancouver, Seattle, Virginia again - all in 2005.
New Year's Day, 2006. Katharine quotes to me from Lao Tzu:
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength;
While loving someone deeply gives you courage."
We confess. We testify.
We complain and we scour the calendar
For more time, more time, sooner rather than later.
More emails. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds
and hundreds and hundreds and hundreds.
Phone calls and more phone calls, at least twice a day.
"Dream waking," I tell her:
"Notice: the world is conspiring to bring us together.
The world wants lovers like us.
Hold on, breath deeply Katharine:
the world is pouring us together."
We believe in our pulse and our impulse,
in second nature's second chance.
We re-pronounce passion.
Querido. Querida. Abrazos cariņosos. Besos fuertos.
Every parting, every good night: We declare love, aloud.
We set sail in togetherness
We believe in our marriage, our growing children,
our grandchildren and our everlasting love.
In our union and communion and original innocence.
In our drinking of each other and our reveling abundance.
We scold - and tempt - each other away from private torments.
We feed each other fruit and sleep entwined.
We read in bed and wiggle our collective toes.
We believe we will see the ocean together, and rest.
We believe we will visit my father and my Appalachia.
We measure our future in decades and continents;
then suddenly by years and the vastness of a neighborhood.
We measure our months and our days and our moments.
We re-pronounce passion.
We believe in our ashes and our atoms.
Katharine means the world to me
even as she leads our way back to collective earth.
We stay in love. We live it up:
Rich beyond our dreams,
Whole-heartedly.
No cure, but a healing nonetheless:
As before every parting
She speaks her last words to me:
"Love you, Joel."
She means the world to me.
Death claims but can never own Katharine;
Death was so small a part of her life, of our life together.
So life will come of life. Love will come of love.
Good will come of good will come of good.
Stay in love. Live it up.
Even as we're grieving
I breathe her presence and absence,
absence and presence:
The distinction fades
As we take our grace
And blessings
From Katharine.

June 23, 2008.