He’s Not Here

Some of you are probably wondering how I’m doing. Two weeks ago today, Bill passed away. A week ago yesterday, we buried him. I’m okay, but there are times when without warning, I’ll lose it. For example, last night during my singing group practice, I belched while we were singing a song, and everyone laughed, and the next thing I knew, tears were rolling down my cheeks, I guess because Bill would have found it funny, too. Wouldn’t you know it? That was the time I forgot to grab Kleenex before leaving the house.

The following poem from How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver expresses what it’s like now that Bill isn’t here. You will also find a link to a YouTube video containing a song I would have loved to record me singing as a tribute to Bill, but I can’t do that at this time.


When You’re Not Here


I listen to your music,

hear longing in the words,

 sit in your chair

surrounded by the warmth,

 eat your favorite food,

know your pleasure in the taste,

 drink your beverage of choice.

My thirst isn’t quenched.

I imagine your body next to mine.

You’re not here.


Wind Beneath My Wings


Abbie Johnson Taylor, Author of We Shall Overcome and How to Build a Better Mousetrap: Recollections and Reflections of a Family Caregiver

Author: abbiejohnsontaylor

I'm the author of two novels,, two poetry collections, and a memoir. My work has appeared in various journals and anthologies. I'm visually impaired and live in Sheridan, Wyoming, where for six years, I cared for my totally blind late husband who was paralyzed by two strokes. Please visit my website at http://www.abbiejohnsontaylor.com.

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