justplainbil

Just Plain Bill

My Dear Friend Steve

Most of us go through life experiencing health challenges of varying degrees. From the broken arm on the playground, to the flu bug that morphed into pneumonia. From the car accident with treatable injuries, to the all too common maladies – tonsils out, teeth straightened, acne treated, bunions removed – and so on. 

I’ve known my dear friend Steve since first meeting during an interview in the early ‘80s. From that moment, there was an immediate connection in spirit, values, and creativity. We also shared an active sense of humor.

Over the years, we worked together and we worked apart. We raised our families, stayed in close touch, but experienced some time without contact too. All in all, I’ve always considered Steve a dear friend, one with whom I could share both pains and pleasures, as we travelled our different paths to our relative success and fulfillment.

That sense of equilibrium continued unabated for about 30 years – until something changed. A few years ago Steve entered the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine appendectomy. During recovery, something major went wrong.

Throughout my life, I’d heard references to “code blue” – the announcement that calls “all hands on deck”…all available health care providers to provide immediate aid to a patient in distress. A “code blue” had to be called out for my dear friend Steve.

From the few details I was told, there was a problem with the closing of Steve’s operation, which resulted in the temporary loss of blood to his brain. While temporary, the condition resulted in an impairment of Steve’s cognitive process that has lingered to this day.

While I was out of work for nearly a year, Steve and I met regularly for breakfast. While enjoying the comforts of each other’s company and great meals, we shared some laughs, some fears, some hope, some apprehension, and more than a few tears.  During our breakfast chats, we talked through some tough subjects, like how much of my dear friend’s abilities had been impacted, how much was the same or on the mend, and how much might never come back. Although I’ve come to recognize that some of my functions and capabilities have been impacted by aging and the` passage of time, I can only empathize to a minute degree what adjustments my dear friend Steve must make as life goes on. We must adapt in our roles as the one who takes care of our families.

Steve has always been an incredibly gifted and talented writer and artist. I feel it is important that I share the personal reflections of my dear friend and his gift of this thoughtful verse.

I love you Steve!

The working class and a purple scarf -- January 2013

Most of my life

I’ve held up the roof beams

of our home.

My hands, at times,

bent

under the weight

of redwood.

I am blessed to be

part of the working

community---

those of us who labor

with mind or shovel

in the noon

of our own time.

Shoulder to shoulder

we have created

the painted walls

that have protected

our families.

But now my mind

has gone astray

hit by a loose

surgical bullet

that has robbed me

of my ability

to hold a blueprint

in one hand,

a people puzzle in the

other,

while re-wiring a problem

with the strands

of red copper wire.

My days of herding

belief, fractured facts

and people

through the narrow gate

are over.

Will I love myself

now that I can no

longer hold the roof beams?

Will those around me

see

this hidden failure

and hold my

name

in respect?

The precipice ahead

is high

with granite rocks.

I see the new land

below

with spiced apples

and a river

running like a herd

of blue gazelles.

Now is the time

to leap

or walk away.

If I only knew

the color of my soul,

the decision

would come

without the pain

of consequence.

Alas.

I am but a journeyman

In the realm

of unseen places

where truth

is wearing a purple scarf

and moving in the wind.