Goodbye to John

Yesterday my friend John died after a long battle with cancer. Those who know me know what a devastating loss this is for me. John was more than a friend, he saw me as I am and got it and loved me for me, the whole package. John was a very complex man, but I got him, too. I can't think of anything to say right now except that I will miss him and I still can't quite get that he is gone. Here is a poem he wrote for me when we were "broken up." I laugh at that because it happened often, but I am so glad our friendship was never ending. Rest now, my darling, now you see the whole of the moon.......

Regretfully, Out of Touch


I always believed in you,
Perhaps even more than you do.
I scorched your heart, as you did mine
Scar tissue never heals right and is displayed
Like a battle wound of a lost campaign
Neither won or lost, oh the emotional cost.
Was it worth it? The price paid was too much
And now, regretfully, we are out of touch.

You got so close to the inside of me
That I could never face, and feeling left out,
I often do, I run away.
I felt you were so cruel to mention
So often the times I hurt you.
I push away what I love and find it hard to trust.
Regretfully, we stay out of touch.

I remember the sweetness of your breath,
The touch of your caress that spring.
It was like a dream, so close so fast
Wanting to make up for lost time.
I lived in hope for a while, rejoicing your smile
And then the battle campaign began anew
Regretfully, we were again out of touch.

Longing to hold you and to be with you
As I braced myself for a new attack
Perhaps the battles were the work of myself,
Once again my insecurity haunts me.
Longing to feel your hair and see the intensity of your eyes
You sip Earl Grey, I don’t say too much,
Except, we are regretfully out of touch.

Excuse me for not sharing the happiness of your new find
Not being in that state of mind, not willing to claim what is mine
I wander through the thoughts and fears of letting go
The lies of omission will not go away.
To say I’m sorry is not enough and not knowing
How to make things right, do I resign myself
To be forever, regretfully, out of touch?


John A. Macdonald