Being Wise: Forty-Seven

 Judy with Rogers, mother, babies, Grandma and kids in 1946

Being Wise Forty-Seven December 26, 2021

So, here I am, surrounded by books–a thousand

at least–and papers, neither in order, except

what Channah has done, bless her. Outside,

sunny but cold and warming. I slept late. Sophie

is quietly eating, Tim making coffee. For so

many years, I’ve written down my life. From

age thirteen, pretty steadily. I learned who I

was, what I felt, opened my inner life and

trusted it. Even now, when I know I will die, 

but not yet. I still feel pain, which means

I’m still alive. Last night I thought off Wesley,

my beloved at age twelve, far away in time

and space. But we loved each other. He 

brought me a gardenia every day, and we

held hands. The love stays, especially at this

time of year. I remember him singing, “Oh,

Holy Night.” I sang, too, in seventh and

eighth grade and wrote poems. Our lives

went different ways, but we didn’t forget.