My daughter hears me clear my throat across the room. I thought I was being quiet, but apparently not. She also hears my stomach rumble, which it does a lot lately. I don’t hear it myself sometimes, but she does. I think she hears things below the threshold of audible perception. I think sometimes she hears things that aren’t really there. She’s concerned, she says, wants to be sure I’m ok. She asks, “Are you ok?” I answer, “Of course.” I say, “I think you hear things that aren’t even there.” She says, “They are.” Sometimes I think she’s super human. She can do anything. My wife used to say, “Kristina can fix anything. She could fix our house.”

My wife was right. Kristina can, Kristina is. And now that my wife is gone, my beautiful wife, and the bottom dropped out of my life, Kristina is fixing me.

I had no reason to go on living. Now I do.

I had hip surgery. I’m recovering. I climbed the steps to Coit Tower. Everyone was amazed, even me.

I’m learning to be myself again. I’m re-learning the world. I always loved the world.
And now I’m writing blogs. I’m sharing.

I’m determined to be around as much longer as I can. There’s so much to do.

I want to help save the world. It needs it. I can help.

This is why I’m writing. It may be enough for now.

But maybe not enough.

I think I’ll write a little more now. It’s my blog. I can do what I want with it.

I don’t really know what a blog is. I’m learning. Slowly. It lets me keep on writing.

And teaching. Always teaching. Teaching took over my life and taught me. It taught me that’s what I wanted to do.

I loved my students and the way they learned how to love life. They grew up and were wonderful. They could change the world. That’s what I wanted, the world better.

But there weren’t enough of them. I only had thousands. That’s why I keep writing. To reach more.

I think I’ll go back to what I started this blog with, the hearing of inaudible sounds. I’ll try to make the sentences longer to change the pace, the tone, the feeling, to go beyond the melancholy tinge that’s getting even to me, and I was only writing it, but the reader unprotected, if he or she keeps reading, has to deal with feelings and responses that he or she might not wish to confront right now. How’s that? A longer sentence, yes. Better? You tell me. I wish you could. Well, you can. But I’m rambling again, and I have to stop myself because you’re not here to stop me.

Who doesn’t know what solipsism is?

And Kristina, the good editor, will say cut that out! And I’ll say it’s my blog, and she’ll say yes, but, who is it for?

Anyway, back to the inaudible. I’ll pursue that against my better judgment, because it was leading me to another lighter focus, part a jokey tone, to another recent poem about my further past.

So here goes: I was going to say to Kristina: “Your hearing’s so good, that when the C.I.A. comes to recruit you, please say no, because I don’t want to lose you. I had this student…”

And then I would jump to the poem itself which is a real story and does have relevance. And, after too much lead-in, here it is:

many years ago I had a student

who became a friend almost family

went with us to places

events came home to food

and talk shared music

then that sudden day

apologetically he told us

he could never see us again

no contact no phone no mail nothing

and he could never see his parents

could never celebrate birthdays

never see his brothers and sisters grow up

cut ties with all his friends

and anyone who ever knew him

he had joined I think it was the CIA

leaving for training in the morning

he would be studying languages

and we would never know where

or what anywhere in the world

what could they have said to him

to entice recruitment and trade

away his entire life

we miss him still

as if he joined a cult

or strict religion

a seminary of silence

where the outer world ceases

I’ve faced loss before but not

this so strange so permanent

like death and now

I can’t even remember his name