Every day of my present existence is one that I share with my
Rosemary who died on 9 December 2026.
I share with birds in knowing when I drive around Vancouver
the places where I went with her. The
empty seat in my Cruze is her absent presence. Some might say I am obsessed.
Few know what it is to have been married for 52 years to a woman who had
multiple interests that we shared. There were even moments when both of us in
bed were reading the same author.
The scanned frame picture here is on my dining room
credenza. When I sit to have my lunch or dinner she stares at me. I took the
photograph in Mexico City in 1969 and it was one of a series that represented
the first nude photographs I ever took.
Borges often wrote that every first moment is repeated ad
infinitum. A larger version of this photograph is on the wall opposite to my
bed. Rosemary stares at me and keeps on after I turn of the lights.
In a Borgesian correction of what he wrote I look at the
photograph and I am ready to take it before I took it again. I imagine what I
might have said to her.
I never asked her why it was that even when she made a small
smile those eyes of her were sad.
I must add that with her portrait in my bedroom she is with
me.