“Fred Has Left” by Jill Fortney

Fred’s talking while working on my legs

I’m in a slight daze, as always, with any of his massages

I begin to suspect he’s talking about retirement

You’re not retiring, are you?

Yes

No, no, no I say

When?

September

This September?

It was the beginning of August

Well, I am 80 years old

 

I never knew his age; I could only guess based on his many stories

Of his hippie days, of drugs and whatever

I told him that as a teen I was a goody-two-shoes - a Sandra Dee type if you know that era – and I didn’t have any experience in what he was talking about

But 80?

I guess I never wanted to realize his age

 

Did I know you were retiring?

I told you a few months ago

Are you sure?

I’m sure

I have no recollection

 

How did I react?

Just as you are now

I still have no recollection

How can that be, I think

How can I not remember?

One of us is losing our mind and I don’t want it to be me

 

Fred says the mind has a way of blocking out what we don’t want to hear

I did not want to hear I was losing him

My Obi-Wan

My guide, my guru

 

He spoke of the transcendent in ways that left me mute, able to simply murmur an awed “wow”

He offered me coping strategies, meditation techniques and constant reminders of the power of shifting perspective

His stories were teachings on the power of love to heal all wounds

Just love it he would say

I’m trying

We laughed at the absurdities of The Far Side comics, searching our memories for our favourites with a “do you remember the one?”

He celebrated and encouraged my creativity

Gazed on each photo, artwork and jewelry piece as if they were precious gifts

His reactions thoughtful and genuine from having really looked

After all, he was an artist back in the day

 

And my bewildered heart

Mournfully and selfishly cries

What will I do without you?

 

I manage the grief of every Thursday without Fred

And search for a stand-in

I want to be happy for him – he’s finally got time to himself

We talk on the phone a few times; we meet for coffee and a walk

He has another eye surgery

I text, then call to check in on him but there’s no response

We were to set up another walk

I wait, then finally call his friend

I get news I can’t absorb

Fred has passed

No, no, no

That can’t be – I can hear his voice, his laugh

I see him – I see his smile

I feel his warm hug when we last parted

 

And once again

My bewildered heart

Mournfully cries

What will I do without you?

***

Jill Fortney has had a fulfilling career working with children and on behalf of children. Now she’s playing with her lifelong love of words, language and story to write of life: a humble and humorous attempt to learn what it is to live with compassion, love, curiosity, joy and awe. An amateur artist, jewelry-maker and writer, she is a work in progress, as are all her creations!

See upcoming weekly writing classes, one-day workshops, and four-day retreats here. 

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