Memories Under the Dogwood Tree
Summers gone by…
I remember the warm summer nights of years gone by, when Peter was alive. After Peter came home from work, we used to relax in our garden. I would hang the miniature little pierced tin pails lit by candles in the branches of the dogwood tree. They looked like twinkling fairy lights winking merrily amongst the foliage.
The evenings were pure magic. The still black velvet nights hummed with the sound of the cricket song and of the air rustling through the leaves. The breeze felt cool, caressing our skins after the warm summer days. It seemed to be always calm and peaceful in my memory. Peter and l would lean back against the back of the jelala and gently swing it back and forth. He had bought it when l broke my ankle one summer. ‘Stella! Stella, look what l bought you? A jelala!’ He bought it so that l could rest there with my casted foot lifted on it and for me not to be confined to the house. I used to lie on the swing, under the shade of the tree happily reading a book. With my crutch I swung the jelala back and forth, bach and forth. He would return home at noon, bringing some food for us to eat until l was able to manage once more.
Max would lie on the cool patio beside us. Sacha, our cat, perched on top of a high branch of the tree, observing the world around her from her aerie above us. All was peaceful. Peter would close his weary eyes as he rid himself of the stress of his busy day. Sometimes he shifted and lay his head on my lap. With one hand l pushed the swing gently to relax him, with my other l would caress his smooth bald pate. I would hum softly as we swung gently. My Funny Valentine was our song. Sometimes we would sing it together, there under the dogwood tree. It was a special time for us, the day’s end. We cherished every moment together.
Our outdoor cats would saunter by and Sacha would join them in the garden beds or the bushes. Max would perk an ear and wonder if he was invited to join them. He would lift his head in askance. If he was not invited, that was okay too; he would lay his head down once more and contentedly enjoy the peace of the night.
We thought our idyllic life would last forever. We thought we would always be young and vibrant. We never anticipated that one day we would be separated by death. Peter used to say we would die together at the age of eighty-nine as he crashed the red Corvette sport car, that he always spoke of getting, into a tree. He crashed it because we had become old and senile! I believed him. But that is not what happened. He died suddenly of a massive heart attack on a sidewalk off Queens Boulevard by the parking garage by his office. He was waiting for his car to be produced. He was on his way back home from court. Death snatched him away before he could make it home.
For a long time l was stunned and angry of his life being taken from him and me so suddenly. He had so much joie de vivre, so much he wanted to do, so much to live for. I felt as if we were robbed! Why had the Angel of Death snatched him away so suddenly? Why couldn’t he have given him more years? I was angry. Very angry! Why? Why? Why? When my anger subsided, l reasoned with myself. He was taken away suddenly and painlessly because he was such a wonderful human being. He did not suffer. He was loved by everyone who knew him, including God. God did not want Peter to be in pain.
Almost three years have passed. I miss him all the time. I feel so alone sometimes, but have my memories of my wonderful loving husband to comfort me. One day we will be together again. In the meantime, l dream of our lives as it used to be. I know we were part of the very few who were blessed with such a loving and happy life together. We both had difficult marriages the first time around, but God gifted us with a most wonderful one this time. Peter used to say, ‘We were born together, only she was born in Baghdad and l in Brooklyn.’
When it is my time to leave, he will meet me at the other end and offer me his arm. He will smile his endearing smile, make his little courtly bow and say, ‘Milady, would you care to resume our lives together once more?’ And l will smile a smile full of delight, take his arm as we walk together towards an eternity of sheer bliss. March 21 is our anniversary. Happy anniversary, the love of my life. Until we meet again.