A major event in my life every week happens when I place my sheets and pillow cases into the wash. After making the bed in the evening (the cats wait for me to finish before they jump on the bed) I have a thorough bath including washing my hair. The act of getting into a clean bed, all clean myself, is rewarding.
But that brings is a melancholy as Rosemary and I did that
for 52 years. We made the bed together. On our Stickley bed, the stretching of
the bottom sheet was a tough job.
Making a bed with Rosemary was something most intimate.We would look at each other. It was an intimacy shared that might have brought us into an immediate reality.
With her gone on December 9, 2020, I miss all those
intimacies we shared. Of course there was the sex. But I must add that simply
touching her back when we were in bed after turning off the lights was
intimate, too. Morning breakfasts in bed, with our Vancouver Sun and New York Times, I miss especially now. I have breakfast in bed.
When my Niño and Niña get into bed with me, I cannot stop thinking that she petted them. My cats are a direct connection with a woman with whom I shared a life for so many years.
I cannot say I shared stability with Rosemary. She was the stable one, I was not. On our bed with her iPhone she was able to plan our travels abroad and she even managed to get the best airline rates by directly calling the airline companies.
Looking at her plants in my Kitsilano garden I get the intimate memories of her planting them and telling me why she liked each one of them.
Looking at a rose in the garden is like looking at her lovely face.
I am unable to get into my tub without thinking the many times we bathed together. Alone in my tub I can imagine her already on the bed waiting for me to get in.
My life now is one of unceasing intimacies remembered.
