My Mama's Mustache & Other Inherited Stuff  

Love

Soft brown teddy bear,

small and sweet

I laid it beside him.

Peter cried.

Hospital room sterile and cold,

Peter ran his hands along the fur,

rubbed it against his cheek.

He smiled.

He loved me even then.

I was scared to let go.

Did not want to lose my friend,

I said no. Behind my wall

I cried.

A year passed. I did not know

I loved him,

couldn’t show.

I saw a pink teddy bear,

like the one I gave the year before,

but pink.

It’s name was angel.

I laid them together,

I married my friend.

He died,

happy.

He loved me.

He knew I loved him.

He taught me how,

he made it safe.

He gave to me

with all his love,

courage, hope, and care.

When he died

he cried.

“Have I abandoned you then?”

“No, Peter,

you have set me free.”

It has been five years today Pete died.

I thought for years now that there was nothing left to say about Peter Noetling.

Perhaps I feared losing him in small doses by sharing his memory others. Now I know I will never lose him.

Pete was not "the man of my dreams" "the love of my life" or even a runner up. he was not my type at all. My type were always sweet on the outside, and to the outside world, and outright rejecting and critical on the inside, and to me. some were outright abusive.

Pete didn't fit the bill on any count. Nor was he the tall handsome stranger I had always dreamed of..

He was just Pete, my friend.

I will write more of him soon also. Right now I want to focus on the following lines.

He taught me how,

he made it safe.

He gave to me

with all his love,

courage, hope, and care.

When he died

he cried.

“Have I abandoned you then?”

“No, Peter,

you have set me free.”

Peter is responsible for a great many changes in me. How? By his acceptance of me, as I was, the nice and not so nice, knowing the best in me as well as the worst, and loving me in spite of it. He gave me a safe foundation, according to Maslows hierachy of needs from which to develop.

All my life I had battled the basic needs of survival, physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. With Pete, whether real or illusion, I had the security of permanence. Pete would always be my friend, no matter what. For the first time in my entire life I felt safe.

Pete was in love with me. I knew that. But by the time he came along I was used up in the relationship department. I was also terrified of losing him. We talked several times about it; he accepted my feelings, perhaps hoping they would one day change, and we remained the best of friends.

Then in the fall of 2003, I won't go into the details this morning, Pete was diagnosed with terminal, and extremely advanced, bladder cancer. I did lose my mind a little (more?).

One day Pete came home (we had been housemates for two years, separate lives), sat in his usual chair on the sunporch, lit up a cigarette, and asked,

"Janeen, if I'm going to die, will you marry me?"

I was speechless. Pete bowed his head slightly.

"Well, I guess that's not really the proper way to propose to a girl, is it?"

At that we both burst out laughing.

"I'd marry you even if you weren't dying." I said a while later.

"Oh, I don't think either of us is ready for that yet!" he said.

Four days later Pete went into the hospital. It was the day after Thanksgiving.

We were married on the third of December; Pete died on the fifteenth.

I was angry at Pete, and at myself, after he died because I had not ever wanted to care about anyone enough for them to hurt me.

There is, of course much more to this story, but what I wish to magnify above all else is the joy of it. I've heard it said that I am the one person who will never leave me. I disagree. Pete will never leave me. He is very much alive in my heart.

Peter loved Christmas lights and decorations, and the joy of the season. I celebrate it for him, remembering the finest gift a person could be offered, freedom.