Charity, A Toast, and Memories I have treaded

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Abbot Ale (Charity's favourite)

On March 17, 1996, on a cold, foggy morn, my closest and dearest friend, Charity, passed away after a long bout with cancer. Of course, not before she gave cancer a flying middle finger in her finest Irish spirit. Some say that the hardest thing in life is burying a child. For me I cannot think of anything harder than burying a sister, wife, lover, and best friend all in one person.

It took me over two years to forgive myself for not being by her side those last few days instead of in Austin, Texas. She had been by my side, as least emotionally, throughout some very tough times, and I felt I did not requate the support to the best of my ability. (That was then...I do NOT feel that way now.) Unfortunately the hardship of losing Charity also led to a great deal of unbearable stress on relationships. Hopefully I have made up for those as well. But that was then...

I wish I had the room to go into great detail on the amazing person Charity was, but my fingers would not last past the 20th or so paragraph. What can easily and honestly be said is how this little 5'0" waif of a woman could bring a smile to a face or light up an entire ballroom with just her presence. One of the reasons I write this blog and my poetry is to honour the friendship and encouragement Charity gave me every day we have known each other. Her spirit lives in every person she knew and in the Eagle tattoo that adorns my right arm. When people ask what she looked like or who she was I just point to that tattoo and smile. That is all that is needed.

This was meant to be written on St. Patrick's day, but for obvious reasons, my mind was off in other areas. All I ask is that the next time you are out with your friends or family enjoying a pint of the finest ales, that you toast Charity for me. And with that I must go and toast her myself. I leave you with a poem I wrote several years ago in honour of her. It has never been seen by anyone else's eyes until today. Enjoy!

Prost!
the zen brewer

Treading Water

Loneliness is a time for memories,
and I am the richest man in the world.

Ida's Maybelle sifts softly
through a sieve of speakers;
taking me to a time
not long ago, a time
of you and I;
of me and you;
of eye and the sea.

A time when I was in love
with her; in love but not in
love; in love with the idea
of being in love; in love
with a woman who's not you.

And I was here. You were
there. She was somewhere,
nowhere, I dunno, neither
here nor there. Oceans away.

You, there,
wishing to be here.

I, here,
wanting the same.

We would sit at a table
sipping coffee and talking.
Talking about you;
Talking about me;
Talking about you and me;
Talking about me and her;
well...maybe not about her;
Talking about a sea of memories
we have shared through our eyes.

Now there has taken you;
She has returned to nowhere;
And, I am here,
treading memories...

Loneliness is a time for memories,
and I am their king.