Remembering Debbie

I worked with "Nurse Debbie" for several years at a facility for developmentally and emotionally challenged clients and then again in the hospital setting but on separate shifts and floors. Debbie had just started working with me for a couple of days and took me by surprise when she grabbed both of my hands and began twirling me in the hallway and singing Ring-a-Round-The-Rosie. I knew from that day forward, I would never have an ordinary predictable workday if Debbie was on.

We became friends and I invited her for a walk in Tyler Park in Bucks County one afternoon and she seemed to be in awe of how clean and peaceful it was, something that I admit I took for granted.

Soon after that our work schedules and lives caused our paths to diverge.

I read the obituaries daily (a nurse thing) and remember clearly the lump in my throat when I opened the page to see that Debbie had died suddenly. She was 51 years old. In lieu of flowers, friends and family were asked to donate to Today, Inc., a rehab facility for drug and alcohol addiction. I recall an increase in absenteeism, but I never predicted this. I miss Debbie and think of her often. I planted a willow tree in her memory. Although it is still young, it is magnificent and I am not able to walk by it without being in awe of its "presence." I wrote this poem two years later.

Backyard Delusions

I planted this willow tree
after May 23rd,
seeking shelter
from a frozen ache.
Its roots
weave and huddle,                                                             
weathering
red-eyed storms.
Each spring blooms
a presence,                                                   
every day,
I recall.

We walked carefully
across slender twigs
and idle banter,
a surface of concentric rings.                                            
You insisted I not be bothered:
I had my own battles,
my own walks in the park.

Now I survey this court yard alone,
seeing long flexible legs
whirling down on the lawn,
tearing up the terrain,
making my chin drop,                                                         
and blink to                                                                        
find you
gracefully
sitting there,
breathtaking and
beautiful,
so quiet,
and so quiet.