Bill would have been seventy-four years old today. I wrote the following poem four years ago on his birthday while he was in the nursing home almost two weeks before he passed. It appears in my new book, My Ideal Partner: How I Met, Married, and Cared for the Man I Loved Despite Debilitating Odds. Click on the title to hear me read it.
Gray hair against white pillow,
lips caress my cheek,
his good arm encircles my shoulder.
The odor of peanut butter
scent of his shampoo comfort me.
Seventy years old today, he says he loves me,
kiss soft against my cheek,
as we hold each other,
for who knows how long.