The Path Along the Pines

By Saralee Perel

Like the cycle of life in which tides ebb and flow, so it goes with relationships. As often happens with couples when one partner becomes disabled, my husband Bob and I have had our share of receding waters ever since my spinal cord injury. But because of a stick, a pair of earphones and a field of pines, the tide has shifted for both of us.

Bob has written two poems for me in his lifetime. He wrote one back in 1977 on our honeymoon in Vermont, where we spent the days climbing mountains, cross country skiing and falling deeper in love: 

I sit here by the fire,
warmed by more than crackling logs.
My mind's eye is brilliant
with thoughts of you.

Sitting on the bed,
Perpetually-crossed legs hidden
by your long, flowing hair,
as you fall, doubled-over,
laughing at your own joke,
punch line undelivered,
I wait  . . . 

Dashing along fields of pines,
I glance behind through sparkling
diamonds of falling snow, and see you
hugging trees, in love with it all, as
I wait  . . . 

In mornings, too early
for the sun to be awake,
you shift and settle against me,
a drop of unfeminine drool on your lips,
I wait  . . . 

To tell you
of my love
for you. 

Bob wrote the second poem soon after we hit bottom emotionally. At that point, neither of us believed it was possible to repair the damage we had done to our marriage. We had developed a relatively constant state of distance from each other. When we weren't distant, we were usually snapping about insignificant things. We had not engaged in meaningful communications about our new life as a caregiver and a person who needed care. I guess we were both afraid to.

Thank God we made it better. It wasn't going to happen by itself. We needed to make it happen together, as a team.

So one recent afternoon, I could hear Bob rummaging around in our backyard shed. After about an hour, he laughingly called out, "I found it!"

"Found what?"

"You'll see."

And so I did. In one of the dark corners of the shed, he found the wooden walking stick he had hand carved for me when we were first married. It was brittle and dry from years of not being used nor cared for. So what did Bob do? Well, by polishing and re-polishing until its shine was as lovely and rich as it was in those beginning years of our marriage, he gave it new life.

Before he presented me with his re-creation, he handed me a card in which he had written the second poem:

Sometimes, if we're not aware,
unused parts of our minds and bodies
can wither, dry up and become
sadly put away in a corner,
waiting for us to miss them enough
to seek them out and enjoy them again.

When we discover them,
bring them back to life and embrace them,
we can then experience, once again,
the joy they created for us in the past.

Bob and I knew that his words had a lot more to do with "us" than they did with my precious walking stick.

After he gave me the gift, I put my regular cane under the couch. The walking stick suits me, in many ways, much better.

Later that day, I was sitting outside. I was listening with earphones to a James Taylor CD on my iPod. When I heard "My Romance," I reveled in the words and the music. Suddenly I thought, "I've got to find Bob." I faltered for a moment getting out of my chair, but then I stood myself up.

"What's there to think about?" I said to myself. "Go!" I had learned from Bob when I'd heard him rummaging through our shed, that a single decision can change an entire life.

When I walk, I need support for balance. With the determination of an Olympian, I held on to tree after tree as I rushed into the house. Bob was at the computer. Then without saying one word, I put the earphones on him and took his hand.

He held me up while we danced.

My romance  . . .  doesn't need to have a moon in the sky.

We swayed to the music.

No month  . . .  of May. No shining star.

No hideaway. No soft guitar.

Bob took one earphone off. "You listen too," he said.

I closed my eyes. He led me into a slow twirl as we both sang.

My romance doesn't need a thing  . . .  but you.

Sometimes, wondrous things right in front of us take a long time to embrace and re-discover. With one set of earphones now belonging to two people, a dash along our backyard pines and a walking stick brought back to life, we have reclaimed our love at last.

Award-winning columnist, Saralee Perel, welcomes e-mails as sperel@saraleeperel.com or via her website: www.saraleeperel.com.

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