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Would it were evening
By: Katharine Daimler

Would it were evening


" Peeping out of the frosty window, I see the freshly fallen snow that has
covered everything in sight.. darkness is settling in, and now it is
extremely quiet and hushed.

I let the curtain slowly slip through my hand, and sit down in my recliner,
in front of the fireplace. I look at my husband's empty chair and wonder why
I have not moved it? The flickering firelight makes dancing red patterns on
the wall and his old chair.

My mind starts to wander as it frequently does these days. The glass of wine I hold in my hand promises me some much needed comfort, inviting me to remember the joy of the good times of the past and at the same time,
forgetting the lonely present. Oh Mein Leibte, if you were only here
tonight. In some ways, the nine years you have been gone seem like an
eternity, yet in other ways, it seems only yesterday that you were taken
from me.

Lonely for the sound of human voices, I find myself talking to Lars quite a
lot lately. "Lars, was it only I, that knew you had the soul of a poet and a penchant for Shakespeare? I think no one would suspect it of you, a shy man with calloused hands and weather-lined face, dressed in your faded overalls and blue chambray shirt. I will never forget the words, though, will never forget how they stirred my heart when you quoted 'fractured' Shakespeare to declare your love for me. You started the letter with, “Mein Leibling, I take up my pen and ink to express my feelings for you…” and finished with “ ‘if this be not true, then I never writ, nor no man ever loved.' "

"I miss you so much, Leibte. Fifty-two years we were married, and for fifty
of them we lived in this house. Ah, the living that we did. I would and
could not wish, for a different life, than the one we had together."

"But Lars, this old house is much too big for me now. It's so hard to heat,
with these high ceilings. You would be so ashamed to see the peeling paint
and the curled, rotten shingles on the roof making it a mere ghost of it's
former self. In fact, the whole neighborhood has gone to pot. Still, I stay.
It is our home. I am overwhelmed sometimes, with the things you used to take care of that I didn't even have to think about. How hard it must have been for you the last few years of your life."

"Many things are so different now, Lars. The grandchildren do not speak your father's German tongue, nor do they wish to do so. They are in a different world, than the one we lived in, Mein Leibe. Now everyone works, all the mamas as well as the papas. You labored such long hours at the mill, but my work was in the home and I was always here when the children came home from school."

"Remember our family gatherings of Christmases past? The happy voices
echoing throughout the house, doors slamming with kids coming in and going out. And do you remember the big Christmas trees that we always had, and that you were the one that climbed the ladder to put the Angel on the top? It was the highlight of the evening, when the little Christmas lights were turned on after you had finished with it. I watched you grow more unsteady each year that passed, and my heart was in my throat, as I watched your wobbly descent down the ladder."

"It's the silence, Leibte. Silence should not be existent on Christmas Eve.
Our children and grandchildren don't come as often as they used to when you were here. They say it is very sad for them to come here, since you passed away, and I know that it is true, in part. Partly true and partly an excuse, is it not, Leibte?”

“Our bed will be particularly cold and empty on this special night, without
you, Leibte. The absence of sound will be loud in my ears. In the old days, at this time of evening, you would be here and our children would be here. It seems so long ago, but it was true, was it not Lars?”

"Ah, would it were evening, Lars, and all was well."

Article Source: http://journal.ilovephilosophy.com

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