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Another Conversation with Norman

You once told me that, “Our conversations are our prayers.”

Toward the end, my friend, your world became small,
Your eyesight became blindness, your hearing silenced,
It was difficult to breathe and the wondrous smells
Of the trees and grass were invisible to you.
You needed a wheelchair to navigate those long halls, and those long halls,
With the shouting of other people’s emotional pain, infringed on your serenity.
There were times even god may have seemed to be running away
From the confines of what would never be home.

And yet,

You searched for the meaning of it all,
For the lessons you were meant to learn.
You reached for the past and the present
To understand the future.
You touched the lives of everyone you met.
We are forever changed.
In case you don’t remember it now, I’m here to tell you:
Until your last breath, you remained Norman.

From the beginning, I knew you would open up my world.
The wonders you envisioned were beyond mere sight.
Our conversations were our prayers and you heard them clearly.
Now you move freely, running in glory,
with the universe and your god.
I will always feel you in the breath of the wind,
See you in your now empty chair,
Know you are with me in the taste of an omelet.
I still feel your beard on my cheek.
Our conversations were our prayers,
Sometimes without the burden of words,
Filled with the comfort of silence.

Whatever “integrated immortality” meant, you are there.
Go in glory, my dear friend. Blessings.

Another Conversation with Norman

Lenore Senior

Pueblo, United States

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desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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