Greg's river

 He picked Justine up at the hospital after her radiation treatments. She had stayed at her sister’s home two nights to save the driving, so she could rest in between. She looked up high and stared at the swaying Alder, just the way people who tend to really see trees do; a little thing that makes others uncomfortably curious, like when you don't want the person your facing to know you just became aware of their flickering eyelid.

She took his arm and said, “Dancing trees are a gift”.

“The wind is a gift today”, he responded to his wife, tilting his head toward the car.

There was a day she would not have used a phrases like “Dancing trees are a gift”, but that was a time more revealing of common insecurities than the peacefulness of refrain. She had grown into new sensibilities and habits of mind. Organically, the pieces of her self consciousness that did not serve her, dissipated over time. “Misplaced anxiety, like misplaced anger reveals the rotting roots, not the tree.” She said that once too, he thought, as he turned his face upward just enough to feel the touch of the warm sea-soft breeze.

He felt that warmth, all of it. He bent over and opened her door and she got in. The door was closed, he made sure.

He commented to her,” It’s nice to see male nurses working these days”.

It was his way of processing that he didn't fully understand this cultural shift yet, but he managed to compromise his own historical association to it. To him it was just somehow, a good thing. He knew it was something about equity and balance. It was just that he never completely shed the out- dated sensibilities of his family of origin. He was not able to completely detach from that grip without losing a part of himself so he found a way to compromise and consolidate his perception of gender rolls. Greg was not a shallow man and he recognized Justine changed him,opened him up to allow for more flexibility of thought. “Life is more like a river than a heavy stone”, she’d sometimes say in the middle of their conversations, while moving her hands all to and fro to show the flow of change. He carried on driving. The car ahead stopped quickly for a crossing raccoon. They both watched it doddle; a tiny surprise for the week, not eventful, but this smidgen of variety helped mark the day as a tad more special. Justine coming home was always special to him.

Justine was tired from the two hour drive. Her radiation treatment exhausted her and tomorrow was a day that belonged to her. She was receiving a community volunteer award, and on top of this her friends were throwing her a party at the same time. It was arranged when the date seemed a good one. Justine was loved because she was so genuine. She gave for reasons invisible to the eye; behaviours conscribed by her heart, she was devoid of manipulativeness. She was long since retired . Her love of her job as a philosophy professor served to give her exploration of humanity and compassion a fascinatingly rich texture. She was genuinelly interesting and had a way of making even a mundane event have a special value, just as she did for people.

“You know” she said, “ I will be too tired to attend my own ceremony Greg. Can you go in my place and deliver a message for me.” She thought to herself as well...Can you hug my friends , shake hands with my colleagues and volunteer partners and sing their praises. She knew he could and she knew he would ,but in his own way; true to his character. She understood her conception of that story was a fairy tale and accepted truth over her desired version of it. She also understood that this occasion was indeed out of his comfort zone. She believed that her ideal version of things was far out-weighted by the fact that he would simply do this for her. She remembered to remember who he was instead of who he was not. She had learned this over the years. It was worth learning because he was a good man and she loved him.

 Their house was shingled in dark wood and on a lake. She gardened and he fished. They had no children and loved to walk in the woods together every day with their dog Danny; short for Danielle, not Daniel. Greg built a lovely screened in porch on the side of the house. where they ate dinner each night They watched Jeopardy and Nature of Things together as a habit on a small TV. He was a creative carpenter so his signature pieces were placed lovingly in the rooms they were meant for. She loved this about him.

Greg carved too. He sculpted a piece of cedar into a flatter circle and etched Gnothi Seauton on it for her on her 60^th birthday. She consdiered those words to be two of the most important inthe world. Know Thyself was what they meant. On her 55^h he made her another for above their front door that said Sawubona. It was a Zulu greeting phrase . It means I see you, and you matter. She said it was important, and he believed her. He caught the drift within moments of meeting her that her whole orientation was about comforting people. He adored this about her beyond any words he had ever been able to speak.

Justine’s award was called the ‘Community Friend’ award. She had said once it was one of the few acknowledgements she respected. People who won this knew hope was a verb with its sleeves rolled up. Optimism was not enough. For this award the hours had to be put in, and for a long time; monetary contributions having nothing to do with it.

She is resting in her bed the next morning and tells Greg she feels very rested and can go alone. “I had at least better go with you. I am proud of you, you know and you may get tired.” “I do know that love, but it has been years since you have gone to something like this. Are you sure?” He had a settled in dislike of large groups and his echoing hearing aids didn't help. This felt different. He wouldn't consider her going alone. “Yes I am”, he said and he bent down and kissed her cheek. He was nervous and hesitant but he would not share this with her.

They both attended.

They pulled up and he walked her into the community centre. The building was small and old, built years ago by a miner who lived in the area, but it had a warm feeling that sterile modern structures often lack.There was a locally maintained vegetable garden in the back. She saw a friend from her old job and hugged her, deep gratitude beginning to sink in as it was her nature to experience. She felt a wave of love as friends and acquaintances spoke to her. Greg watched her as he served up punch for a few people and himself. He felt a wave of love too. He felt her wave of love. He felt the love of those around her. He relaxed into a fold out chair with his punch. He felt peace, and even joy. Within two hours Justine became too tired to stay, but she thanked everyone using the microphone. They said their goodbyes and she collapsed into the car.

She put her hand on his and fell asleep on the way home. She was deeply tired. Their statures allowing for it, he carried her in and they slept for two hours on couch before bed. Still. When they went to bed they both slept soundly.

Greg woke at six and poured a coffee for himself. He went for his first early walk and was grateful his recoiling social tendencies remained latent at the party. He knew that yesterday he found that sweet spot of experience, and he went with it. He did not need her to notice but she had.

Justine awoke and came around the corner to the deck. She stopped and quietly watched him retie the hummingbird feeder so it did not lean and drip. A weightless moment of peace rolled over her. She understood the value of this moment was not just about her, it was about all moments like these, offering slivers of light that illuminatethe the point of hope and teach us just what is we should actually hope for.