Everything

Dearest Doug,

You were fast asleep today for the entire duration of my visit. I held your hands - I love holding your hands; I love your hands in mine. Usually I can, and do, rouse you. I’m growing used to your eyes being closed when you’re awake, but today you were fast asleep. I chatted to you - I hope my voice brought you some comfort, on some level. 

I would have liked to talk to you about the war, practiced the correct pronunciation of Kyiv, discussed the Vigil that is being held in town this evening. I would have liked to have talked about Covid for the past two years as it arrived, unfolded, changed our way of life. I know people have been glued to television sets; I know you would have been devouring the Toronto Star and the Guardian. You would have contributed some Op-Ed columns, I’m sure. Thoughtful, concise, well-researched, beautifully written. 

Instead I told you how well my lecture at the uni went, how bright the students are, how close a reading they’d given the work, and how much hope for the future I feel having met those young people. I tossed around a few ideas for papers I could write. Should write? (Only a few years ago you would have gently chided me: “those papers won’t write themselves, get on it!”)  I read to you  from one of our scrapbooks, describing the photos and the memories they hold for me, making sure I didn’t ask “Remember when we . . .? Remember when?”

Mum did all the Christmas baking this year; I had the last almond square for you - but even that didn’t pull you from the sleep you so obviously needed. (Confession: when I came home I had a cup of tea and ate the almond square.)  Holding the square in front of you, trying to tempt you awake with the scent of almonds, I talked about the marzipan figurines we saw in shop windows of patisseries in Europe. And that Easter is late this year, but Mum and Donna made the Simnel cakes in Deep River when we visited for Family Day weekend.

I still think of Family Day as a “new” holiday as it wasn’t invented when I was a child/ teenager living in Canada. But it was first celebrated in 2008, so it’s older than us, as a couple. Donna, Lorie & I spent the weekend with Mum & Tom in Deep River; snowshoeing, playing Scrabble & Scattegories, reading, baking, cooking, eating. Exactly the sort of weekend you’d love. I thought of you - and how you’d enjoy the moment we were in - many, many times.

We’ve never walked through an almond tree grove together and smelled almond blossoms, or picked nuts from the tree. We’ve stood over a pot of hot water though, to blanch almonds and squirt them from their skins. We’ve deep fried elderberry blossoms and we’ve made elderberry jam, and we’ve picked blackberries and blueberries and forged for mushrooms and wild garlic. 

You don’t need to open your eyes, Doug. I can use my words to describe the things we’ve seen, and smelled, and tasted. And the cuckoos we listened for in the English springtime, and the sting of nettles we picked for soup. My voice may be a little muffled by the mask, but this is me speaking. My skin is winter-dry, but this is my hand holding yours. Right now, this is everything. And more than enough.