Longing

I long for my dear wife. I long for her spiritually, emotionally, and physically. I hunger for her. In an attempt to satisfy this hunger I have been devouring our photo albums. We have photos of each other that stretch back to our childhoods. Sherry created extensive albums of her semester in Mexico, her year abroad in Spain, as well as her years in Australia, New Zealand, India, and Fuji. She also kept detailed journals of her life experiences since she was 16 and travelled to Mexico, then to Europe, Australia, Humboldt State, working at the service club, , graduate school in Oklahoma, life at the Convent, working at the state school in Maine, moving to Idaho, carrying through to a couple of weeks beforel she died and was no longer able to write. She asked me to keep the specifics private, and I will steadfastly honor that request. While Sherry has over the years told me many of her stories there is much more. I am becoming more and more aware of the depth and complexity of the woman I was led to marry. I am fascinated by the serpentine paths we took to find each other, and I am most grateful that we did.



I am also struck by the intensity with which Sherry sought God; how she continually sought to know herself better so as to fulfill her ministry, which was for her to discover her unique gifts and then to exercise them fully. “To thine own self be true.” And “Know thyself.” are ancient road signs on the path of life, and Sherry adhered to them adamantly throughout her life. She had many gifts. She exercised many of them through her hands—as a potter, as a weaver, as a seamstress, as an enamellist, as a card and collage maker, as a teacher of art, as a pianist. More gifts were exercised through her intellect and through her heart.


Through photos and journals I could track how our love developed over a 22 year period. Our initial friendship was a time when we delighted each other sharing ideas, poems, essays, films, life experiences, and enjoying the pleasure of being on the same wavelength. At the time I was the supervisor of the Kootenai Head Start Center that was located in the former District Developmental Center off of 7th Street in Coeur d’Alene. Sherry’s office for the Regional Program for the Deaf and Blind was located across the hall from my office. Center staff noticed as our time together increased from casual smiles and greetings to morning coffee and end of the day goodbyes that often extended into the evening. How could staff not notice when we did such things as stand in the rain outside the building talking for an hour and a half after work? Sherry knew before I did that she wanted more from our relationship. Finally, after cross country ski dates, dinners out together, bike rides, concerts, and movies we became romantically involved. We were energized by the wonder of each other, and savored our intensity and joy together. Our love grew. We had our separate houses, but were spending nearly all of our time together in one house or the other. Again, Sherry was more aware that I of where the amazing synchronicity between us could go. We spoke of it and I was thrilled that Sherry actually wanted to marry me.


We married on August 11, 1990. Our wedding photo album reminded me of more details of that wonderful day when we consummated our love with the sacrament of marriage. The album also contained photos of our honeymoon where we backpacked, first up the Queets River to sleep a hundred yards from where a herd of elk was bedded down. We listened to the cows bark to the calves and caught whiffs of the sweet smell of the herd. Then we hiked up the Quinault River into the Enchanted Valley where we were lulled to sleep by river song, and greeted the morning by plunging into the cold river, shouting our shock as we entered this primordial baptismal together. Our last hike was the Lake Ozette trail that snakes through the forest with boardwalks over the marshy places, and then follows the coast line south to pick up the return leg of the triangle. On the rocks by the ocean ancient petro glyphs chronicle marriage and other aspects of Makah life. It is a sacred place.


We returned home to begin a 19 year long adventure. Our relationship continued to grow as we planned together, competed home projects together, gardened together, laughed together, cried together, loved together. We were both amazed at how “better” became “better yet” continually in this rich, playful, and mysterious country of marriage.


The last three months after Sherry was diagnosed on September 16th accelerated our growth at a dizzy rate. Knowing the prognosis of the glioblastoma diagnosis stripped any pretext to bare authenticity. We got to spend more time together than we ever had, and we filled that precious time. I knew clearly that I was where I was supposed to be, and there was no place I would have rather been.  As Sherry’s capacity to perform various tasks decreased I was honored to help her perform them. We found our pleasures as we could. Hot showers were sheer bliss.  Between stints in the hospital we took them every other day.  After transferring Sherry to the chair in the shower I would get in with her. First I would lather up the bath poof with Dr. Bronner’s lavender soap, scrub her back with slow, gentle rubs, and then hand her the poof to wash what she could reach. Then I would generously squirt pools of baby shampoo into my hand and massage Sherry’s head with it. She loved to have her head rubbed so shampooing took a long time even after most of Sherry’s hair had fallen out from radiation treatments. When finished I took the hand-held shower head off its bracket and rinsed Sherry’s head and her back, then handed it to her to complete the rinsing. Finally, I hung the hand-held back up, increased the water temperature and directed the water from the overhead shower head onto Sherry. She swayed slowly side to side on the shower chair, basking in the steamy, sensuous hot water. When she said, “ Enough,” I turned off the shower, opened the shower door, and helped transfer her to a towel to sit on, folded over the closed commode seat. To do this she put her arms around my neck and I put my arms around her under her arms. She stood and we lingered in the shared wet warmth as we shuffled in a slow dance to the seat. After she was seated I handed her a thick bath towel, and moved her hair dryer, brush, and lotions within her reach.  


After Sherry returned from the hospital for the last time she couldn’t get out of bed, so we did bed baths three times a week with the capable assistance of the Hospice CNA. Our pleasures were soon transformed to feeding Sherry my sister’s applesauce with a teaspoon. I was ready to spoon the sweet bites she loved into her eager mouth. She would smile, look up at me, and say, “Thank you.” I melted in joy and enchantment.


My love grew deeper and deeper, driven by the service I was privileged to provide. I cherish this affection and devotion each for the other. Sufficient was holding her hand and assuring her of my promise to never leave her alone in the world.


So, Sherry seemed always to be ahead of me in her awareness of how our love grew out of a strong friendship, through engagement, to the strength of the commitment of marriage while we continued to celebrate this sacrament in our daily lives as one flesh. Now she dies before me, again leading the way. I cannot yet join her and my flesh is torn apart.


In anguish I long for her. I want to talk with her: to question, to learn, to reflect, to deepen. I want to hold her, comfort her, and touch her face as we allow our bodies, hearts, and souls to remember each other again and again and again. Such is my grief.