joe~
I first met Joe when I was in preschool at Saint Margaret Mary’s. When I think of him, so many images rush by in frames,. Nothing monumental just small moments where he is clear within my mind…
I see Joe in our third grade classroom. That was the year he asked me politely if I’d join him for a weekend picnic. Giddy and girlish I said sure and told my best friend that I had a date. I asked him to tell me when and he said he’d let me know, he needed to ask his mother. Well the weekend came and went and he forgot about asking and soon it was Monday. I was upset. He had stood me up. I asked him what happened and why he never told me a time and a day. He apologized and said he accidentally forgot. He felt awful and promised to reschedule a picnic, just him and me.
I see him turn around in his desk, reach towards my pencil tray and steal my pen to dismantle it…He diligently twists and turns it until the spring pops out and then looks at my expression long enough to smile at my apparent confusion. Then, magically he puts together the pieces and it’s functioning again. And I ask what he wanted and why he did that and he says, ‘I just wanted to take it apart and see if I could put it back together.”
I see him sitting in the passenger seat of my car on our drives home from VASJ. I loved singing along with Joe because he always sang along too. “Your song” plays and we belt out Nicole Kidman and Ewan McGregor’s parts… I glance in the rear view mirror when the Backstreet Boys “I Want It That Way” comes on and smile because I knew Joe and Tim are going to harmonize…and by their contemplative stares and dramatic expressions it was clear they were really into it.
I hear him say, “Heth,” and I smile because I can picture how he spelled it-- H E T H. no A.
He tells me that I am a great listener and he loves to talk to me about life in general…I feel honored that he thinks so and from that moment on I try to live up to his expectations of a great listener...
I look over and see him again in the front seat of my car only this time we are drinking French Vanilla coffee from BP and sitting in the Saint Margaret Mary parking lot. We are below the eighth grade classroom window talking about his recent girl problems and my recent guy quandaries. I am not sure exactly why we always come back to Saint Margaret Mary...it is just the parking lot and yet something about it is so comfortable.
I hear him say he is still sad that I broke the trend…that we had a clear record towards completing our entire education with each other and that I messed it up when I went off to Chicago for College instead of Miami in Oxford..
During college we keep in touch here and there… not as much as we’d like. He takes me to lunch after I graduate in the summer and while we’re eating at Tommy’s he says something that makes me smile. “I still owe you that picnic.” I laugh and tell him I’m not upset anymore…it was third grade after all..
I see him persist daily and shrug off cancer like it is just another small road block. He becomes an expert and likes to shock the doctors with how much he knows about the disease and how little sympathy he wants…
I am amazed by his strength.
I see him with his eyes closed, resting... I felt silly when I reached out to hold his hand ..I half expected a slight movement or brush of his hand back. I strained me eyes to see the rise and fall of his body beneath his blanket…but it was still. He was still.
Joe, I miss you and know you are without pain now. But I still owe you a picnic in the park. Soon…