Ice Cream

The Old People

Pantcuffs rolled, and in old shoes,
they stumble over the rocks and wade out
into a cold river of shadows
far from the fire, so far that its warmth
no longer reaches them. And its light
(but for the sparks in their eyes
when they chance to look back)
scarcely brushes their faces. Their ears
are full of night: rustle of black leaves
against a starless sky. Sometimes
they hear us calling, and sometimes
they don’t. They are not searching
for anything much, nor are they much
in need of finding something new.
They are feeling their way out into the night,
letting their eyes adjust to the future.

        Ted Kooser

I came across this wonderful poem in Kooser’s collection, Delights and Shadows, several years after Joe died. But it struck me when I read it that that had been the future I had expected: that Joe and I would feel our way out into the night together, holding hands as we usually did. We were so happy together and our life was so normal, solid and stable, it was impossible to imagine that it wouldn’t just keep on that way. But we have all learned, in so many ways, that we can’t know what the future will look like. I was watching a wonderful lecture on chaos theory this morning, and the instructor’s last line was something like, the only thing we can be sure of about the future is that we can’t predict it. A cell betrays the body and cancer takes over, a virus makes the jump from one species to another.

But though we can’t predict the future, we can be ready for it. Joe helped me be ready for this unexpected future in so many ways. The most important thing we learned together was how to build a deeply satisfying marriage, based on the values Joe articulated for us: openness, acceptance and caring, and the daily practices needed to realize those values. Having learned that in my happy years with Joe, I have been blessed to build on it again. Joe was one of the architects of my happy life now – happy despite the loss of him, happy despite the pandemic and the disastrous Trump presidency. I learned through Joe’s death that there was no point in fearing death, and that knowledge makes so many things easier. It doesn’t make me careless or foolish, but it does help me stay focused in the present, in the one thing I can control – my own attitudes, beliefs, and choices.

July always stirs up these thoughts. Marlene was talking about July 4th reminding her of Sea Ranch and all our happy holidays there – the year we were all together there when she got the call that Sophie had been born, and all the ordinary, happy years. I remember those last July days of Joe’s life, with the rest of the Chavurah in Sea Ranch. I remember Harvey, of blessed memory, asking if they should come back. No, of course not. There was nothing they could do that they had not already done with so much love and kindness. As I think about it I realize that Joe and I did feel our way out into the night together that July, letting our eyes adjust to the future. It’s just that our futures were not to be shared.

Hug your loved ones, as soon as it’s safe. And as Joe’s sister Phyllis suggests, eat an ice cream in memory of our Joe.