To Believe in God is to have somebody who knows you through and through and like you still and all.
“It is so easy to love you” he said, his blue eyes dancing as he searched my face for what would be one of the last times.
“You are the only one I could do this with” he said, laughing at his naked escapades under a full moon, feet planted firmly in the grass, relishing in his last bit of freedom. He danced with life and with death.
From the first moment our words met, we recognized each other. His were always pure poetry, mine were those of a novice being instructed by her maestro. We must have known each other for lifetimes, as we were at instant ease – a rarity in our culture. I could have been his daughter, or mother, or lover, or best friend. The title didn’t matter. The connection did. But I was his doctor.
That was all he cared about: connection and relationship. He was dying, there was no doubt, but he was more interested in living each moment, breathing each union. He had told me from the beginning that if all he could do was lie in bed and smell the oranges outside his window, his life was full. I didn’t believe him until a year and a half later. Once his disease finally took over his physical body, ensuring his confinement to his bed, I trusted his musings.
By then, we knew each other through and through. And we didn’t just like each other, we loved each other. There was nothing that either of us could do or say that would break that bond, no matter our many human faults. It was “God love”, as he termed it. His willingness to be totally vulnerable and trust me with his life not only opened the door for me to reciprocate, but created a fierce protector in me. I would struggle to keep him safely in his home, to take his last breath, wafting orange-scented through the window.
And struggle, I did. The thought of him being institutionalized as he died gnawed at my psyche.
Guilt, shame, defeat, loss, and grief sprouted from my being as I searched, and I was willing to beg for help. No one can do this alone. Hadn’t I learned that by now? And as soon as I let my arrogance go, believing that I had to be the one to fix everything for him, the world opened. The love poured in. The support became real. And he relished every moment, as did I, even the difficult ones.
For 19 days, I journeyed with him on his last voyage in his own little boat – loving, learning, and supporting each other as he navigated the way, one soul meeting another.
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