Dennis And Monique - Another Love Story Poem by Bill Galvin

She shined so brightly in his sky…

"She was a shooting star;
Brilliant the night I met her; brilliant the night she left."

I said, "That is beautiful; so poetic; may I use it? "
He replied, "Of course." I begin notetaking early yesterday eve.
"Yours is a story so full of feeling, so full of love,
I'd like to write something about it." "Go right ahead."
We talked much more while eating at the restaurant bar.
He introduced us to the couple seated next to him,
"We're two guys who both lost their soulmates
About a year and a half ago. Small world."

He tells me she is still close to him,
Through the music they enjoyed together;
"Music is the caretaker of our memories, " he explains.

Dennis and Monique met in the mid-70s.
She, a flight attendant from MA, flying the Florida routes;
He, a young pro football retiree, due to a knee blow out.
She, on a layover with girlfriends at dinner;
He, calling a friend who ran the restaurant… "What's up? "
"Come on over… some cute girls here."
They meet eye to eye, and the rest is history.
He shows me a photo of them back then,
His wild white-athlete afro, her long brunette tresses.
He played for the Jets, when Namath was there, he says.

The woman next to him lost her husband four years ago,
A long, slow, steady slide to cancer.
My Deb's ALS was slow as well; Monique's death was sudden.
We don't bother to discuss which is better,
Because there is no difference… loss is loss.

"I still haven't gone into her closet, " Dennis says.
He shows me a recent photo of them both;
She was beautiful, in her early 60s; an attractive couple,
With love and respect, obvious and shining.
He remembers her last words,
As she cleared the dinner table, and said to him,
"No, I got it. You just relax."

He shows me a photo of their two daughters,
Late twenties, early thirties… "Gorgeous! " I say.
"And you can see where they would be so gorgeous;
Your wife was so beautiful." He beams silently.

17000 words he has written as a therapy;
All in one big document file.
I encourage him to think about publishing a part of it;
I tell him how easy it is; I suggest this and that.
"You see with a poet's eye, " I say. "Share what you see.
It doesn't matter if a lot of people like it. It's your expression.
And if it hits home with only one other person,
Then it's worth it. It can help you, too."

"Heart attack? Stroke? " I eventually ask. "No, " he says.
"Only because of the age, " I try to explain.
"Most people think that. And it's understandable."
He draws a breath, recalling… "No…
She tripped… a shard of glass cut her carotid artery."
A moment of stunned silence… I look away.
I look back at his expressionless, staring-forward face…
"I can only say what I hear, and what you hear, all the time…
I'm so sorry, man… such a shock." "I know. Thank you."
We shake and hold hands; look into each other's eyes.
He reiterates, "She was my shooting star…"
Still shining brightly in his sky.

Once this hurdle is behind us,
The rest of his explanation of events is easier to retell.
He talks more of his loving daughters;
Of his travels with his family when they were growing up;
And how when he walks his dog in the quiet morning hour,
That's when he is most reflective of his wife's memory;
And how he is so happy today that he was able
To tell her that he loved her every single day.

We are all more relaxed; we order an after-dinner drink.
We discuss this, that, and other things.
The lady of the couple next to him is a middle school teacher,
And must get up in the morning.
We all say our goodbyes and leave together, smiling.

The world is full of heartache, full of tragedy;
But must always be remembered for its love stories.

Dennis and Monique are another of those true-love stories.

4-28-2016