Some events come over and blop you beside your heart. How could this happen? You cry. And yet it does. Someone dear and special is gone.
Last Sunday Gene took part in my Poetry Gathering at our Quaker Meetinghouse. Lively and bright as always, interested. As we went around reading poems, Gene read from a book of poetry Come With Me by her mother-in-law, Naomi, put together by her husband of many years, artist Dick Beardsley.
Gene was especially nice to me, a stranger to this meeting. But, as I was to learn, Gene was especially nice to any number of people, her bright smile sometimes hiding pain. Gene loaned me this book of poetry. Which I read through tears after learning on Monday of her passing. Gene died April 8, 2019.
They came to call last night,
our friends, grown old with us—
Over tea and apple pie we spoke of the old days,
the days of our youth.
We laughed at the shared memories.
We recounted the events
that shaped our lives.
And now, in the evening of our years,
we counted our blessings.