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My Husband Worries About Getting Old (poem)

By Barb Sauvage

He shorts out a light while changing the box.
I am clumsy, inept.
I don't like getting old.
I want you to get old,
        My Darling.
Very old.
Last night, while the cat was dying,
He sat across from me and said,
        Can I sit shiva with you?
You don't sit shiva while they're
        Still alive.
But you can sit with me nonetheless.
Today, he digs a hole for the cat
While I hold the branches away
        From his head.
I think back to his days in
        Vietnam.
Digging holes, and wonder
If this stirs up those memories for him.
        Or will.
Did you know then,
        My Darling,
That some day you would be digging
        A hole, for your wife's cat,
As you did for our children's cats
And the dog you so lovingly cared for
        While she got old, and
        Died in your wife's lap.
And that your granddaughter would
Paint the grave marker that you made her.
And that after you buried this cat
You would cut forsythia branches
        To open in our kitchen.
Your life, My Darling, has been
        A wonderous thing.
And the holes you dig now
Well, you've made them
a different kind. You were 19 then
And the difference from those
        And from now
Is you've made a new life
        Out of this digging.
And the love, the love has
Grown you. Grown you.
My Darling grave digger.