The Last Hour: A Poem
The last hour begins to near,
Coming so quick and fast.
Just when it’s beginning,
Soon it is the last.
The blare of the alarm clock;
Light breaking the windowsill.
Slowly begins to weaken
A strong and determined will.
The shoes and coat go on.
A glass of water to drink.
The suitcase by the door;
An aching heart starts to sink.
Fighting tears, a hug is now,
And strength starts to cower.
As the door closes behind him,
Tears fall in the last hour.
Written: by Renee Blare, Winter 1989
In dedication to my husband, James.
History of Poem:
This poem was written in the early days of our marriage. My husband worked out of town. In the winter, we saw each other every other weekend for eighteen hours. He came home to wash his clothes, sleep, and pack again. Oh, and see me!
We lived in Casper. James worked in Green River and Laramie. He went to class in Sundance on the other weekend as a part of his apprenticeship program. If he had time, he’d pop in and say “hi” before heading back to the jobsite but since that usually was around midnight, it didn’t happen very often.
I lived day to day and, at times, minute to minute, counting the seconds until I saw him again. To say good-bye.
Roads in Wyoming are treacherous, especially in the winter. He’d call and tell me he was leaving. I’d beg him not to come home then quietly rejoice when he’d ignore me, ending the call with “I love you.” If I was quick enough, I’d squeeze in “I love you more.” Dragging himself through the door, exhausted from the work week and the drive, he’d take me in his arms and whisper, “I love you mostest of all, Puddins.”
With the Lord’s help, we survived this period of our marriage, only to face other trials and tribulations. Those we triumphed as well. A beautiful boy named Sean was born in Jackson after an almighty struggle. Numerous surgeries have been battled and conquered. Even financial trouble couldn't destroy this family.
You see, I didn’t marry simply a man. I married my best friend and partner in life. When the Lord joined us, he became my other half. Twenty-four years ago, in this poem, you see agony. A woman’s heart ripped in half. After all, the other piece of it had just walked out the door. Unwillingly.
For those who are curious. I would answer. “And I love you, Honey Bunny, to infinity and beyond.” And our love continues to grow each day.
Reneephoto credit: photographer padawan *(xava du) via photopin cc