To Have and To Hold... Part 4

• My story continues when Jon was five. At that time, we took in two Cuban refugees—remember when Castro emptied his prisons and mental institutions and sent them over on boats? Dave felt sorry for them as he saw them on the news, and arranged to bring a couple of them to Alaska. We made room for them in our house and tried to get them jobs. Unfortunately, one of them tried to molest Rachel, who was about eleven at the time...

With a heart for others

you thought were oppressed

two Cuban refugees you put to the test,

brought them to our house.

You thought it best

to give them some freedom away from the rest,

to give them a chance to make it here.

But they only wanted

pot and beer

and women.

And they wouldn't hear your instructions

on how boys have to live

in this tough world Alaska,

and you couldn't give

them the wisdom they needed as hard as you tried.

"Francisco kissed me ... " your little girl cried,

and you put them out,

not into the street

but in an apartment where they couldn't beat

a path back to our door. ..

"Jon's only five," you said sadly, "but he

knows how to make it here better than they ... "

That was you then,

my compassionate man ..

And then ...

Baby Bethany, a surprise, a Joy

for our old age together,

a girl, not a boy!

Bethany Joy, a princess for whom

you'd have battled the world ...

But soon, too soon,

the darkness was gathering against you,

the gloom ...

In the Lower 48 you'd sold

all the property we'd ever hold.

Into stocks, bonds, and futures the money you'd put,

selling long, selling short, getting undercut,

"I'll make money this way. It's open and shut..."

Though you went every day

watching ticker tape turn

on screens where they play in the market,

you learned

only a few would get rich.

And you would get burned.

"Can't work iron no longer," you told me with worry, "Younger guys are stronger than me and they hurry

to stab in the back

when you get in their way.

Can't go back to the Slope.

Can only just hope

to find a new trade

where big money is made

without bein' afraid

I won't make the grade

with this bad back of mine," you said,

and you stayed

close to home for awhile,

for quite a long while ...

A lot of different things you tried

but always sweet success would hide

from you, and then you felt

they lied to you.

"The worst thing anyone can do

is lie," you told me.

Then you'd hold me

close and whisper, "Hon, you're true.

I gotta have you ... "

That was you then,

my turning fifty, hurting man ...

• This was where Dave, deciding he would become a barber,got into a dispute with the barber school he attended. He sued them, asking for millions, which was ridiculous, of course, but he didn’t see it that way. So persistent was he that he litigated on his own against the most powerful law firm in Anchorage for two years, a feat unheard of for a lay person... and certainly a lay person with only an eighth grade education...

And then ...

Your last years, a hard trail of pain,

The whole world against you, you thought,

conspiring to take your life and your gain,

your thoughts and dreams with dark evils fraught.

And I was caught,

hadn't been taught

how to shield the kids from your mind, so twisted,

while you said things to them (may they never be listed)

that you really didn't mean,

but that you never could clean

out of each little head, once said ...

"What do you think when you're trying to sleep?"

you ask me in the darkness, I'm trying to keep

my voice low,

Quilts ... the things we've done ...

"I'm looking out from behind a machine gun.

I'm shielded and mowing down everyone ... "

Is this you, my love? Where did he go?

That gentle man I used to know ...

Tell me, when did I lose you?

In the ebb and flow of every day

when those murderous thoughts took you away?

When you struggled with doubt

and succumbed to despair?

Did you doubt me? Oh, Honey, I care!

I still care ... Are you there? and can

I still have you and hold you, my wonderful man?

Persistent still, and fighting, you

would play your own attorney to

litigate against each wrong ...

It wasn't long

till you needed me to help, and I

would cry

on your shoulder,

though I'm less of a crier as you grow colder.

An Authority higher than you, my heart's holder,

bids me type your stuff

till you say, "It's good enough, Honey,

that's it for today."

And I pray,

"God, am I taking part

in his unforgiving, bitter heart?"

Then suddenly all the lawsuits done, You've lost,

and you've suffered, and a little you've won

their respect.

But I wonder just what it has cost

when I watch you lie down

and give up for lost

all your dreams of dark vengeance ...

What did you gain?

What good was fighting them?

Seven years of pain.

That was you, at last, my litigating, enemy-hating,

system berating, dying man ...

You were dying,

and I think you knew though you denied it,

said it wasn't true.

"It is not my heart," you said, and you

kept working on your well-drilling rig.

(This, your last project, was really big ... )

You told me, "I'll redo the kitchen, too ...

Honey, I'd do anything for you,"

you said before you turned your head

toward the wall upon your bed

the day before you died.  You lied.

You left me then,

the day you became that cold Death's man. ..

• Dave had a major heart attack and died on Sunday morning, October 11, 1992, at the age of 57. He had always told us to "...Just bury me in a pine box when I die, no fancy expensive casket..."   So we did... Turned out that pine box was more expensive than he would have realized.

  

And now ...

Five years more, how quickly they've gone.

I'm five years older, and I'm all alone.

But wait, I'm not alone, not quite ...

I'm whole, not half a person as

when you first died, I felt I was.

The Lord shall be your everlasting light,

and the days of your mourning shall be ended.

I take that promise, hold it tight,

and take great joy in those children He lended

to you and to me ..

In God's love I see,

I love you still. I always will.

And though death did us part,

I haven't really lost you, my heart,

But I'll never have you

nor hold you again,

my Crazy Dave, my husband, my man...

• This is finally the end of the long, long poem. This was written in 1997.  I think my grief was somewhat relieved by writing this that lonely summer while Beth was  visiting with Jon in Alaska. Fourteen years have passed since then, and my life has changed significantly. But that's another story...