I Could Have Coasted

 I Could Have Coasted

I could have given up long ago,
I could have bought the homeless corner
next to the stranded avenues.
I could have coasted.

In my head the days were always struggle,
the dead threw taunts at me,
the living were beyond my reach.
I could have toasted marshmallows and
hot dogs to attract a crowd;
but that is not where companions are found.

There was a wife and a husband and
two beloved young adult sons.
She was a church person,
but not churchy.
She was grace and Lutheran and
Scandinavian. Her husband never
attended; he felt he did not fit because
of his smoking habit.

Her husband died, cursed cancer,
and left her weeping for the man who was
better than the church people knew.

Within the year a son also died,
offensive tumor, and left her weeping for
the empty space in her house. She felt barren.
The nurse,
a pastor, and the mom were
with him until the final breath. He was
better than anyone you have ever met.

And she remembers the pastor who was
in over his head,
who took the train to Minneapolis to
sit with her during her son’s last surgery.
And she remembered, 30 years later,
and tracked him down, in a town 1500
miles
away.

I could have given up long ago,
I could have buried my face beneath the
fog that weeps over the hills. But she
would not let me forget that

Simple acts of presence may be
the sweetest moments we share.