I had a good cry this morning - it's been a few months - and it's all Mitch's fault.
He posted a link on Facebook to Peter, Paul, and Mary singing The Cruel War, saying how it had always made his strong, tough father cry. I didn't listen to the link. I didn't have to. My head immediately started playing it, and before long the aforesaid weepfest had begun.
The song has always touched me. But today it sounded like all the things I said to you a couple of days before you died. I know you remember - I blubbered for an hour or so, begging you to either take me with you or use your influence, once in Heaven, to get me brought there as soon as possible. In short, I wanted to go with you and I begged you not to leave me here. I'd never heard or read anything that said what I said to you that day until that old folk song started echoing in my head this morning.
I want to be with him from morning to night.
I want. to be with him; it grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me go with you? No, my love, no.
There was no sign that day that you heard me, but I always though you did. Medically, I know that hearing is the last thing to go; it is present long after we aren't able to show that we hear. But it was the look on your face that told me you did. Your face said that you loved me and understood, and that I didn't need to be afraid because everything would be alright. I've turned back the pages so many times to revisit that look. It did reassure me, though it couldn't take away the pain. I know by faith that everything is alright with both of us, but I'm glad you gave me that extra reassurance. I need it sometimes.
Bless Mitch, he gave me the chance for a good cry that I needed to have. And he reminded me of a song that says what was in my heart that day. Now I wait for the last verse to come true:
Oh Johnnie, O Johnnie, I fear you are unkind.
I love you far better that all of mankind.
I love you far better than words can e'er express.
Won't you let me go with you? Yes, my love, yes.
Love you forever and ever,