Tag Archives: Love

Bowing

I enjoy bowing to the statue of the Buddha, with palms together and a light heart.  The Buddha isn’t a god.  He was a human being who lived 2600 years ago, and he had some good ideas about leading a life.  When I bow to him, I say inside, “All beings everywhere”.  That’s whom I want to contribute to.  At times, other words have bubbled up.  “The God in me bows to the God in you.”  “Love bowing to love”.  In the meditation hall in Barre, Massachusetts, the Buddha sits at the front of the room.  As I enter the hall for a sitting, with 100 other yogis, I pause and bow.  It feels right.

Between the coat room and the meditation hall is a walking room, where we practice walking meditation.  The Insight Meditation Society building used to be a Catholic seminary, I believe, and there are two lovely stained glass windows of Jesus in the walking room.  At previous meditation retreats, and at this recent one, I came to stop in front of one of those windows and bow.  I sometimes worried about what other retreatants thought of this behaviour, but more and more I didn’t care.  I imagine they think that I’m bowing to Jesus.  I’m not.

The stained glass shows Jesus sitting at a table, with the disciple John to his left.  John has his right hand on Jesus’ right shoulder, and his left hand on his left forearm.  John’s head is tucked into the hollow by Jesus’ neck.  And the look on John’s face is one of supreme peace.  I’m bowing to John’s love.  And as I do, I silently say, “Love them all.  Light the world.”  And that is what I’d like to do.

Eight months ago, I wrote a blog post called “Ego Bowing”, in which I described walking a three-mile loop road at IMS and bowing to every person I met, making eye contact.  When I walked the road this time, something inside told me not to bow and not to look.  So I didn’t.  I let everyone have their space, to be with themselves, not needing to respond to another.  That too felt right.

May I bow inwardly to each one of us whom I encounter on our dear planet.

Visitation

Yesterday, I went to the visitation for my friend Darrell’s wife Joanna.  Gone at 64, cancer I believe.  Even though I had never met Joanna, I wanted to go.  Many years ago, when I was trying to get a teaching job with the Catholic school board in London, Darrell wrote me a letter of reference.  And I got the job!  Darrell and Jody both worked at Parkwood Hospital and were joyous friends.  Always having fun.  So good to each other.

I showed up at the church right at the beginning of the visitation period, and there already had to be 50 people ready to say hello to the family.  And there were probably 25 of them.  So I experienced the “line that doesn’t move” syndrome, and that was fine.  I knew only one person there, but others probably knew the whole family.  Who am I to begrudge them precious moments with people they care about?  So the waiting was good.  There were two or three screens in the sanctuary, showing all sorts of pictures of Joanna.

Folks who came later than me were seated in the pews, waiting for the opportunity to join the line.  As I stood, I heard two precious words among a group who were seated: “Jody Kerr”.  A woman who works at Parkwood was talking about my lovely wife, about what a joy she was to see every day, and about Jodiette’s bright tops and pants.  I turned and sought out the source.  The four of us chatted for ten minutes or so about my dear girl, and I couldn’t care less about losing my spot in the line.

Then it was time to greet the first family members.  I was feeling a little nervous, but really not much.  I was clear that it didn’t matter what I said to all these strangers.  “Just be with them, Bruce.  All will be well.”  And it was.  I told different groups that I had never met Joanna, but the slide show on the walls showed me all I needed to know.  She just glowed in photo after photo.  There were even recent shots of her smiling broadly at the airport, as some of her kids and grandkids were heading back to Western Canada.  I imagine that everyone knew this was goodbye, but that didn’t stop Joanna from showering her world with love.  “Was she always like this?” I asked.  And one of her daughters answered, “Yes.”

To other linemates, I talked about what a huge presence Darrell was at Parkwood before he retired.  He’d be walking down the hallway, see someone he knew a hundred feet away, and start smiling.  I think it was one of his sons who added, “And he probably had a couple of conversations before he got to that person.”  Indeed.

When I reached Darrell, we gave each other a lingering hug.  He told nearby folks about the letter of reference, and mentioned that ever since I’ve been paying him with a toonie every time I saw him.  At which point I plunked one of those $2.00 coins in his palm.  And he did what Darrell does – tried to stuff the toonie into my pocket.  But I was too fast for him.  And in Darrell’s possession the coin remained.  Just like always.  I mean the guy has to keep his retirement well funded, doesn’t he?

Lots of visiting at the visitation.  Joanna and Jody were happy to see it all.

Irrational Me

The script for the play Jake’s Women came in the mail today.  I sat down and read the whole 99 pages.  Is this obsession?  Maybe some other version of pathology?  I don’t know.  But I want to be Jake.  It’s the story of a writer and the six women in his life – his dead wife Julie, his daughter Molly, his present wife Maggie, his sister Karen, his potential girlfriend Sheila and his therapist Edith.  Jake is loving, tortured and unstable.  I can do this.

The play will run in St. Thomas in February, 2016.  Auditions will probably be in December.  So why is my tongue hanging out now?  Unknown.  After I finished my read this afternoon, Jody said, “It’s you, Bruce.  Go for it.”

Julie died years ago in a car accident.  Molly was eleven at the time.  Julie’s spirit visits Jake and wants to come again on her birthday – October 12 – to get to know Molly as a young adult.  October 12 is Jody’s birthday.  I just stared at page 47 when the date was revealed.  Oh my.  What’s at work here?

At the end of Act 1, Maggie is walking out on Jake, wanting a six-month separation.  Two Mollies (ages 12 and 21) appear to Jake and sit next to him on the couch.  He holds their hands as the three of them sit together in silence.  I cried.  Jody and I decided not to have kids, and in the many years since I’ve often wished I had a daughter.  So will I have one, for the two months of rehearsals and performances?

My brain is skewed.  It must be, for I’ve decided to start memorizing Jake’s lines in the play.  There are lots of them.  Who’s to say I’ll even get the part?  And you know, it doesn’t matter.  There’s something magical about the possibility that I’ll have learned every word dear Jake says and never perform it onstage.  I would be fine with that … really.

So I begin with the first paragraph, smiling and shaking my head.  What kind of human being have I become?  Time will tell.

Lap Dance

Jody and I went to hear Bryan Adams at London’s Budweiser Gardens last night.  My dear wife was deep within my heart as I walked in and sat down.

Jody loved, and loves, Bryan.  As “Heaven” rolled over us, I realized that my darling girl was sitting on my lap.  I reached around and held her thighs, just above the knee.  My wife and me.

And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart
It isn’t too hard to see
We’re in heaven

Then we were rocking to one of our favourites – “Summer of ’69”.  Jody’s hands were way up high, punching the air.  Oh, that smile!  And how we loved to dance.

Standin’ on your mama’s porch
You told me that it’d last forever
Oh, and when you held my hand
I knew that it was now or never

But Jody was just warming up.  Bryan found a lady in the audience who was willing to dance in the spotlight to “If Ya Wanna Be Bad, Ya Gotta Be Good”.  And my wife was just as nasty as she turned to me, snarling and pointing to my chest.  Oh my.

I’ll give you what you want, boy, but let’s make it understood
If ya wanna be bad, ya gotta be good

And more of the same with “The Only Thing That Looks Good On Me Is You”. Go, Jodiette!

The only thing I want
The only I need
The only thing I choose
The only thing that looks good on me … is you!

For many years, Jody caressed me with a Bryan Adams song.  The title says it all – “Everything I Do (I Do It For You)”.  And she did.  Jody loved me so much.  Bryan started.  I held my hands over my heart and cried.

Look into your heart, you will find
There’s nothin’ there to hide
Take me as I am, take my life
I would give it all, I would sacrifice

Near the end of the concert, as the anthem “Straight From The Heart” began, Jody’s hands were flying, palms forward.  I placed my hands over hers, and our arms swayed to the music.  Just the two of us.

Give it to me straight from the heart
Tell me we can make another start
You know I’ll never go
As long as I know
It’s comin’ straight from the heart

May there be another start for us, Jodiette, just beyond the horizon.  I love you.

My Surprising Wife

Aren’t human beings supposed to be predictable, regular and measured?  Well … not the one called Jody Kerr.  In this lifetime, my dearest Jodiette hatched a few plans and smiled her biggest smile when they came together beautifully.  Let me give you a few examples:

***

It was after Christmas and the world was cold.  Jody announced that we were going on a trip over the long weekend.  Actually a winter camping trip.  (Huh?)  “That’s right, Bruce, get out your woolies and your long underwear.  We’re heading to a park near Sarnia” (an hour west of London).  As I scrounged through my underwear drawer, bewildered, I heard Jody in the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans.

“But it’s too cold!”

“Nonsense.  Get packed.”

The next morning, we drove north from Union, through St. Thomas, and angled towards the 402, a westward freeway that would deposit us in Sarnia.  Before the 402, however, was the 401, another east-west road (east to Toronto, west to Windsor).  At the last second, Jody points to the right and yells “I want to go there,” that is the eastbound ramp leading to TO.  I obligingly jerked the wheel and a-curving we did go.

“What about winter camping?”

“Still on.  Just elsewhere.”

Gracefully dodging the bulks of semi-trailers, I took us east … past Ingersoll, Woodstock and Kitchener.  As I approached the exit ramp to Guelph – Guess what? – “I want to go there!”  Okay, winter camping in Guelph, I guess.

As we’re motoring north towards the city, we come to a traffic light.  I’m waiting in the left lane on the red when Jody says “I don’t want to go here.  Turn around.”  A silent “What?” in response.  But I’m a dutiful husband, so I turned left, turned around, and back to the 401 we went.

“Go here.”  As in back onto the easterly lanes of the freeway.  And on to the suburbs of Toronto, whose skyscrapers had me thinking about the unlikely likelihood of sleeping in the snow.

Grinning continually, Jody directed me downtown, where we eventually pulled up in front of the Delta Chelsea Hotel.  Oh my God.  Something’s a-brewin’ in my lovely wife’s head.

In the hotel room, I had eyes for only the fancy bottle of red wine sitting on the coffee table.  I poured Jody a glass, totally oblivious to the bottle’s label, and to a few small signs that were posted about the room.  What a silly boy am I.  Good wine, though.

After breakie the next day, Jody and I decided to walk the eight blocks or so to the St. Lawrence Market, an old Toronto tradition of food and craft vendors in a cozy brick building.  But the wind.  And the cold!  We were boogieing down Yonge St, hunkering down inside our clothes, when we came upon the Pantages Theatre.  I had to stop and look through the glass door to see the opulence inside.  “Oh, I want to go in there some day!”  But I was too cold to notice Jody’s reaction.

After munchies here and munchies there at the market, Jody announced that we needed to go back to the hotel room.  A silent “Why?” in return.  So off we went, risking fingers and toes in the holy pursuit of warmth and wine.  No sooner were we well established on the love seat when Jody shared that we had an appointment at 2:00 pm, and it was important to dress for the occasion.  She reached into her suitcase and pulled out … my suit!  “Put this on.”

Visions of a fancy meal flooded me, and I protested – out loud this time – “I’m not hungry, you know.  There’s no way I’m going to some hoity-toity restaurant!”  Jody smiled and held out my dress shirt.  In a half hour, we were both dolled up and ready for the wilds of Yonge St. again.  So cold.  Head down, I really wasn’t noticing my environment.

And then …

“Stop, Bruce!  We’re here.”

I looked to my left, and there it was – the Pantages Theatre.  The doorman in his long red coat was grinning at us both.  Shock and incomprehensibility from yours truly.  The gentleman held the door open and Jody and I entered a world of golds and reds, arm-in-arm.  After depositing coats, we strolled Titanic-like down the double staircase.  Jody so happy.  Me so dumbfounded.  We kissed.

Jody gave our tickets to the usher, and we followed her into the theatre … down and down and down the aisle till we ended up six rows from the front, in the middle.  I love my wife.

At intermission, Jody leaned over and asked “Well, what do you think?”  As our eyes met, there was only one answer … “It’s wonderful!”  So was holding my darling’s hand.

***

Another year, another Christmas.  Or leading up to one.  Jody told me in November that she was taking me on a surprise trip.  On a Saturday morning, we were having breakfast at the Lakeview Restaurant in Port Stanley, and I was plying her with clever questions.  At one point, I got it.  I knew where we were going.

“You’re taking me to Disney World, aren’t you?”

(Wifely face sinking)

“Well, that’s good.  I really want to see Mickey.”

And so I prepared myself, emotionally and physically, for the big Florida show.  Did I have enough t-shirts?  Of course, I love t-shirts.  But Mickey ears … now there was a deficit.

On December 23, it was another trip to Toronto, this time to stay at the Holiday Inn Airport, before catching the early morning shuttle.  As we zoomed down the 401, I reminded Jody of the importance of me getting Mickey ears before we took off.

“We’ve got to go to the Disney store in Yorkdale.”

“Oh, Bruce.  It’ll be a madhouse in there today.  Why don’t you wait until Florida and buy them there?”

“No, no, no.  I need them now.”

Magically, I found a parking space and later returned to it with a new type of hat for my head.  I was so enamoured with my ears that I wore them in the hotel lounge that evening.  The next morning, I was bringing my suitcase down to the lobby (with appropriate Mickeyness), when I saw Jody and the desk clerk standing at the checkout counter, laughing.  Clearly, he was caught up in the joy of approaching Disney.

In the shuttle, my ears sat proudly on my head, much to the amusement of several passengers.  And then the arrival.  I wheeled my suitcase through the opening doors and started looking for the airline counter.  Jody, however, had other plans.

“Let’s sit down.”

“Sit down?  You don’t sit down at the airport.  You line up.”

“C’mon, Bruce.  Humour me.”

So I sat … light yellow coat, big ears, and furrowed brow.  Jody stood in front of me, with her right hand behind her back.

“Where are we going, Bruce?”

“Disney World!”

“No, Bruce, we’re going to Playa del Carmen, Mexico.”

˅
˅
˅
˅

“No Mickey?”

And there was my semi-lovely wife, whipping out the camera and immortalizing my pain on film.  Oh, the sorrow.  Minutes later, however, I was gobbling up the brochure description of the Riu Tequila Hotel in Mexico.  Gosh, it looked sort of nice.

The vacation was stunning.  Pristine white sand beach.  Awesome evening entertainment.  All sorts of yummables.  And my Jodiette by my side all the time, loving me.  I was a happy man.  Still am.

***

Way back when, in the days before marriage, Jody and I had the thought that we might just be able to afford a down payment for a small home.  There was a new subdivision in Lethbridge, Alberta, and we decided to wander over to a Sunday open house.

We walked in.  I checked out the living room, cram-packed with weekend browsers.  Looked good.  Unknown to me, Jody had gone upstairs to see the master bedroom.  It was a strange design up there.  In the middle of one wall was a large rectangular hole, which looked down on the living room.

My musings came to a screeching halt when I heard …

“Brucio, Brucio.  Wherefore are thou, Brucio?”

Gazing upwards, there was my precious pre-wife, arms wide.

Naturally, I followed suit.  Down on one knee and hands to the sky of Jody.

“Jodiette, Jodiette.  Sweet, sweet Jodiette.”

So we became Jodiette and Brucio
And evermore shall be

I love you, my dear girl

Doesn’t Matter What You Do

Feel the air around you.  Notice that the air places no pressure or force on you.  It wants nothing from you and allows you total freedom here and now.  It simply surrounds, envelops, and holds you timelessly within itself.  Now substitute awareness for the air and allow the feeling of being unconditionally held to replace the sensation of air.  This very roughly approximates unconditional love.

Can I be that type of person, asking nothing from my fellows?

***

You don’t have to smile at me

You don’t have to say kind things

You don’t have to laugh at my silliness

You don’t have to like my e-mails

You don’t have to read my e-mails

You didn’t have to come to Jody’s Celebration of Life

You don’t have to spend any time with me

You don’t have to think that Buddhism is okay

You don’t have to like folk music

You don’t have to have coffee with me

You don’t have to walk beside me down the road

You don’t have to think that The Razor’s Edge is a cool movie

You don’t have to ask me for a copy of the book I’m writing about Jodiette

You don’t have to think I look good in a Speedo

You don’t have to let me into your lane

You don’t have to help me when I fall

You don’t have to come over when I’m in great physical pain

You don’t have to give me a senior discount

You don’t have to stay alive on this planet

You don’t have to hold my hand

You don’t have to visit me

You don’t have to like getting high on mountains

You don’t have to say another thing to me for the rest of your life

You don’t have to love me

You don’t even have to like me

***

I’ll love you anyway

All Else Pales

 

An eight-year-old boy died Monday trying to rescue his disabled grandpa from a fire after saving six others.  CNN reports that East Rochester’s Tyler Doohan was staying with relatives in Penfield, New York when he saw a fire in their trailer early Monday morning.  By the time firefighters arrived, Tyler had woken six people, including two toddlers.  It appeared Tyler was trying to lift his grandpa from bed when both died from smoke inhalation.

The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath.  It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes
The Merchant Of Venice Act 4, scene 1

There are so many things I could be doing with my life right now … drinking beer, studying my investments, reading the sports section.  Nothing wrong with any of them.  But loves outstrips them all.  Whether it’s trying to carry someone who weighs three times as much as you, or holding the door for someone, or just gazing at the photo of my wife on the wall, the energy is clear.  It’s unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced.  There’s no sense of exchanging my good deed for yours.  No premeditation of possible consequences.  Just pure action, pure contact, pure service.

I’ve bought a lot of DVDs over the years, and that’s nice.  I’ve received the accolades of my peers, and that’s even nicer.  But the moments where I have loved – nakedly loved – stand apart.  You can keep your riches and high self-esteem and multiple proficiencies.  I know how I want my moments to play out, whether in the grocery store, at school, or on the couch.

Love lives in the hearts of us all
Leaking from our pores to water the wide world
Please let me have the eyes to see
The need for love in each lonely boy and girl

Circle of Feet

At Jody’s Celebration of Life on Saturday, I had a lovely image projected on the screen as people came in, and throughout the ceremony.  Maybe twenty African boys, just about naked, were sitting on the ground in a circle, with their feet touching.  A whole bunch of brown soles ringed the grassy centre.  A friend of mine said that she’d seen the photo before.  Yesterday, she e-mailed me the story behind the picture.

An anthropologist proposed a game to the kids in an African tribe.  He put a basket full of fruit near a tree and told the kids that whoever got there first won the sweet fruits. When he told them to run, they all took each other’s hands and ran together, then sat together enjoying their treats.  When he asked them why they had run like that, as one could have had all the fruit for himself, they said: “UBUNTU, how can one of us be happy if all the other ones are sad?”  UBUNTU in Xhosa culture means “I am because we are”.

And so I am.  Saturday was certainly a celebration of Jody’s life, but just as much it shone a light on our shared humanity.  Retired people, young kids, pretty women, handsome men, ordinary-looking folks, outgoing humans, shy humans, husbands and wives, fathers and daughters … smiling, crying, laughing, joining in song, nodding in agreement as someone talked about Jody.  All of it.  All of us.  To be celebrated.

Jody lives.  She’s with me right now.  And she’s entered the bloodstream of many folks, reminding them of love and fun and kindness, so that they can take their loved ones’ hands and run towards the shared prize.

Let’s keep doing that, shall we?

Celebrating, Ending and Celebrating Again

Dear companions on the journey,

I’m feeling sad.  I’m feeling nostalgic.  I’m feeling thankful.

For those of you who have been reading my e-mails about Jody since November, 2013, this will be the last message you’ll receive.  It’s time to bring this particular written journey to a close.  The love I have for my dear wife will never end.  It grows every day, and so, it seems, do my tears.  Jody wants me to smile and show the world my true colours.  I’m trying to do that.  But it’s hard.  I love my wife quadruple oodles.

At last count, my e-mails are going out to 322 addresses.  Thank you for being here with Jody and me.  Thank you for praying for us, sending us love, sending us positive thoughts … whatever you have been doing.  I’m clear that your love allowed Jodiette to spend her last seven months at home – enjoying our home, enjoying her garden, enjoying little trips here and there, and enjoying me.

With the completion of today’s e-mail, I now turn towards Jodiette: My Lovely Wife, the book I’m writing about my dear one.  I hope that the folks at Blurb, a self-publishing website, will be a big help as I navigate the unknown waters of content and design.  The book will mostly be a compilation of all those e-mails, plus some posts I created about Jody on my website, as well as a little section I’m calling “My Surprising Wife”.

The goal is to have Jody’s book in my hands by April.  When it’s ready, I’ll send you one brief e-mail, asking you to respond if you’d like a copy.  I’m giving it to whomever wants it.  It’s a love story, you know.

Many of you reading these words are not among the 322.  You’ve been reading posts on my website – brucearcherkerr.com.  If some of you e-mail recipients would like to continue hearing what I have to say, tune in there.  I love writing, and except for periods of meditation retreats, I intend to put fingertips to keys every second day or so.

***

I loved Saturday.  About eighty of us were at the Bellamere Winery to celebrate Jody’s life.  Folks came from near and far, with the far including Collingwood, Brantford and Toronto.  Lots of smiles and lots of tears.  Many wonderful people came to the front of the room and spoke – Jody’s teenage friend and maid of honour, co-workers and friends from Parkwood Hospital, family members of fellow cancer patients at Victoria Hospital, my colleagues.  Marvelous.  One woman told the group “I don’t know what to say, but I want to say something.”  Lovely.

One friend from Parkwood said that she loved watching Jody and me leave the hospital at the end of the day, holding hands.  A friend from Victoria Hospital, a single mom, mentioned that someday she hopes to have the quality of love that Jody and I share.  May it be so.  Someone told us how Jody glowed when she talked about me.  And then there were her funky clothes, including all those pastel pants.  Oh, my wife.  How you are loved!

I shared some of the great words that have flowed from my wife’s lips:

Jody:  Where are we going, Bruce?

Bruce:  Disney World!

Jody:  No, Bruce, we’re going to Playa del Carmen, Mexico.

***

Stop, Bruce!  We’re here.  (The Pantages Theatre on Yonge St. in Toronto, the site of “Phantom of the Opera”)

***

Brucio, Brucio. Wherefore are thou, Brucio?  (at an open house in Lethbridge, as Jody looked down at me from the second floor)

***

I talked about how Jody dressed up in a sparkly black top and a funky green hat for my retirement speech last May.  She wasn’t strong enough to go to the London Convention Centre but she followed all the action via Skype.  Jody was so proud of me.  I talked about the bread that Jody baked me every Christmas, and how last September she coached one of our personal support workers in how to make it, sensing that she wouldn’t be alive in December.  I made copies of the recipe (in Jody’s handwriting) for the guests at Bellamere.  Many were thrilled to receive it and will no doubt pass on Jody’s love to their family.

Love moved in all directions on Saturday.  Our friend Neal stayed with our friend Carole as she waited and waited in her wheelchair to be picked up by a transportation service after the celebration.  I told the folks about Etienne, the husband of one of the speakers, who rode with me towards the end of a cycling trip when I was exhausted, making sure I got home safe.  I saw the love coming from a dad to his daughter, also in a wheelchair, and the returning gladness in her eyes.  And then there were all those who reached for a Kleenex during our time together.

Music!  There was lots of it.  Here are few of my favourite lines, aimed so dearly at you, Jodiette:

Free in the Harbour:  They broach and they spout and they lift their flukes out.

True Colors:  (From Jody to us)  If this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear, you call me up because you know I’ll be there.

For You:  Just to know that you’re never really far away …  Just to know that you’re here in my heart to stay.

Annie’s Song:  Let me always be with you.  Come let me love you.  Come love me again.

The Irish Blessing:  And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

In the Arms of an Angel:  Fly away from here … from this dark cold hotel room …  You’re in the arms of an angel.  May you find some comfort here.

Jody helped me sing Annie’s Song to the group.  When I couldn’t go on halfway through the second verse, the people facing me starting singing.  Strengthened by my wife’s love, and theirs, I began to sing again.  I invited the audience to sing the last verse with me.  They did.  Thank you all.

During the YouTube videos and the DVDs,  I’d often lift my eyes from the screen and look at the photo of my lovely wife on the mantel.  Such love in Jody’s eyes.  Before the ceremony, I had been fiddling with the placement of the photo, trying to reduce the glare coming from the track lights.  But I couldn’t get rid of it.  After Jody’s celebration was complete, I looked again, and saw a little whitish spot in the middle of my wife’s lips.  And I smiled.  Every night before getting into bed, I stand in front of Jodiette, moisten the tip of my right index finger, and press it to her lips.  A kiss that stays.

Finally, folks came up to give me a hug as they got ready to leave.  They had lovely things to say:  “Thank you for sharing Jody with us.”  Of course.  Diamonds need to be seen.  “Thank you for showing us such a vivid love today.”  You’re very welcome.  Pass it on.  And in the guest book:  “Honour Jody with your life now.”  Yes, I will.  “We love how you honour Jody’s memory with your stories.”  Thank you.  “Celebrating an everlasting love”  Indeed it is.  “Celebrating life”  All of us.

On a table, I had placed a number of objects that were important to Jody and me.  And I put out a little sign:  “Please touch and open.”  As I was packing up, I looked at that sign, and thought of us touching the people in our world, opening our hearts to them.  It’s what Jody wants us to do.

I also looked at a book of Jody’s I had put on the table:  Your Happy Healthy Pet: Cavalier King Charles Spaniel.  She had so much wanted to get a dog when she retired.  It wasn’t to be.  But an image came flooding into my head …  Jody running in the meadow with her doggie, laughing with her canine friend.  “Are you with your doggie, Jodiette?”  “I am, Bruce.”

I didn’t want to go home.  I wanted to be with human beings.  So I drove to the Byron Library and plunked myself down in a cozy chair, near a few newspaper readers.  I looked through a wall of windows, to trees near and far.  And thought of Jodiette:  “I am all trees, Bruce.  I welcome you everywhere.”

I read my book a bit but Jody wanted to talk, and so did I.  She let me go first.

“I love you, my dear wife.  There was so much love in the room, Jodiette.  People laughed.  People smiled.  People cried.  You touched them.  I touched them.  We touched them.  It was good.”

Jody’s turn:

“Thank you, Bruce, for such a lovely day.  All those people who love me and love you.  And so many people were brave enough to speak!  I saw it all, Bruce.  Thank you for making it happen.  Thank you for loving me so very much.”

You’re welcome, my dear.  You deserve great kindness.

I still wasn’t ready to go home so I headed to the Cineplex Odeon Cinema to see “Selma”.  First I went to their lounge and had a key lime smoothie and nachos.  Yum.  In the theatre, I moved over so that two fellows could sit together.  The guy next to me was so thankful.  We talked about kindness until Martin Luther King appeared on the screen.  After the film, we stayed in our seats while the others got up to leave.  We talked about King and Gandhi and JFK.  As they stood, we shook hands.  And the gentleman who had been two chairs away from me said, “Take care of the ones you love.”

Yes

Fifty Years After – Part 2

As Cam and I wandered the halls of Lawrence Park, looking at the photos of former classmates on the walls, we came across five girls sitting on the floor.  They all smiled when I said hi, which was lovely.  “We went here fifty years ago.”  Shock and, I think, curiosity.  “Do you still have school dances in the gym?”  Yes, a few.  I proceeded to tell them the ritual of the day:  girls sitting on one side of the gym, boys on the other.  I would walk across the floor, ask a girl to dance, and usually she would say no.  So … there I was, plodding back to the boys’ side, with everybody in the room knowing what had just happened.  Owwie.

The girls seemed to hang on every word.  I then launched into the topic of acne, since my young face had been covered with it.  Smiles of recognition.  And friendly goodbyes as we moved on.

We walked into the auditorium, where I’d attended countless assemblies, and performed in many concerts.  I was floating in my memories when I decided to turn around and face the back of the hall.  There on the wall were the missing plaques.  Under 1967, I was indeed there, resplendent in yellow calligraphy.  I just stared.  Who was this young man?  How much of him is with me now?  Lots.

I wanted to see the orchestra room, where I had practiced the cello for the five years of high school.  Being an orchestra member, playing concerts featuring symphonies from famous composers, had helped me rise above my acne and become a fuller human being.  There was a Vocal class going on as Cam and I passed the open door so we decided to come back at the end of the period

As the old kids were filing out, we walked into a room which was the site of one of the most traumatic moments of my life.  The Vocal teacher (also the orchestra and band teacher) welcomed us, and after hearing our story, invited us to listen to a few songs from the new group of students.  Sounded good to us.

I asked the gentleman if I could say a few words to the kids.  Of course.  I told them of our presence here fifty years ago.  I also told them about November 22, 1963.  It was ten minutes into our morning Grade 10 String class.  We were tuned up and ready to go, but our teacher, Miss Kuzmich, was nowhere to be found.  How strange.

In 2015, I pointed to the door and said, “Suddenly, that door smashed open and Miss Kuzmich fell through the opening, tears pouring down her cheeks.  ‘Kennedy’s been shot!’  And the shock raced through the String room.  I was immobile.  Terrified.  No body parts worked.  It was a moment that will never leave me.  At lunchtime, I raced home to watch TV with my mom, and found out that the president was dead.”

The kids listened and, I believe, gulped.  They too were silent.

We heard two lovely songs from the group.  So skilled.  So expressive.  We applauded.  Then I asked the teacher if I could sing a song.  Seems to me that Cam’s face dropped a bit right then.  But what the heck.  Time to sing.  Was it “Imagine” by John Lennon that flowed from my mouth?  How about a little opera from Verdi?  Naw … it was “Give a cheer for the good old gold and blue.”  The students smiled.

Just before we left the room, I said,  “Lawrence has meant a lot to me.  Fifty years from now, I hope that you look back on your days at LPCI with joy, that you reminisce about how your time here contributed to your life.”  We all waved goodbye.

It was a precious day in the hallways of my youth.  Thanks, young Bruce, for being there.  Thanks, young classmates, for giving me so much.  Thanks, young teens of 2015, for listening.