He finishes parking his car
As I swing into the space beside him
In Don Senor's parking lot. 

We trade one-armed man hugs
And go inside to a booth near the back. 

It was hard to watch and hard to not see 
The weariness in his eyes and on his face, 
The traces of grief etched into the lines of his forehead, 
The shaking stiffness of his hands. 

I'm sure it's not when you're nearly eighty
But I don't know that there is any age 
That makes it any easier 
When the death of the one you love 
Comes trenching through your soul. 

Thirty-nine years of loving and living 
With his Nora:
A myriad of experiences,
A plethora of trials,
And the multiple miles 
Of joy, sorrow, aches, and celebrations
That mark the lives of people who have decided 
To share all that life brings
In their togetherness. 

I can somewhat imagine 
But choose not to:
What it would mean for me to lose Randa.
An expected absurdity of existence
Suddenly void of the richness 
That just marked its thirty-fifth year 
This past Lord's Day.

Over quesadillas and tacos, 
Mike and I talked, traded stories 
About hiking in the Grand Canyon.


He asked about Jay
And I told him he was doing well,
Continuing the machinist career 
That he started over twenty years ago. 

He spoke of his own son, 
His finding an apartment for him, 
And told me that he wished 
I could come and hear him preach 
"He's an outstanding preacher." 
And added, "I'm not saying that 
Because he's my son;
I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true." 

And I told him that I knew that
Because I do. 

We finished eating 
And talked a while longer.

I prayed for him for just a moment,
Standing together in the parking lot,  
Each an arm around the other's shoulder, 
And embraced each other for one final time. 

He headed back the hour's drive to Lexington 
And I pulled out of the parking lot for the five minutes 
It took me to get back to Susan's house 
In time to get Benjamin ready for bed. 

There are so many unspoken moments 
of being a husband, a father, a grandfather,
Of Love's light duties and gainful sacrifices, 

Never knowing when we have felt the last touch
Of the life we thought we knew.

I believe that we will day rise to a better one 
In a place where there is
No more sickness or sorrow,
No more death or dying, 
Where all tears are wiped away.

No more walking alone through the long nights 
That mark the time between their passing 
And ours.

Filling in the gaps of faith with silent tears 
In the darkness of a moonless night
With hints of autumn seeping into the silence. 

H. Arnett
9/4/24