Dearly Departed

 

My second wife had died a few months

earlier. She was 74-years old, older than

I by 9-years. We had been together some

twenty-years off and on.

We had some hard and trying times, too

much to cover in this piece I’m writing

today. Suffice it to say, depression, al-

cohol and drugs were involved on both

sides. She was also dealing with child-

hood physical and sexual abuse issues

which haunted her throughout her life.

Anyway, I am an Army veteran and my

spouse was entitled to also be buried

at a National cemetery.

The family and I had a brief ceremony

at Ft. Logan Cemetery in Denver before

her ashes were interred.

It would be several weeks before the

headstone bearing her name, dates of

birth and death would be engraved

and placed appropriately on her grave.

A month or so later her daughter,

Tracie, and I re-visited the site to

see her newly placed marker among

the thousands of headstones, all the

same, uniformly placed in military

fashion, evenly spaced in horizontal,

vertical and diagonal rows.

And the inscription read—MARJORIE

B HANCH, MAR 28 1938, AUG 16

2012, WIFE OF SP5 CHRISTOPHER

J HANCH, USA, A DIAMOND IN

THE ROUGH. Margie’s daughter and

I had chosen the tribute, “Diamond in

the Rough“ as one most befitting her

mom’s personality.

And for me, it was striking to see my

name engraved on that headstone. It

was as if I too had found my eternal

place of rest, even though for the

time being it was in name only.

I often wonder what my kids will say

about me when it’s my time to go?

(Be nice now, remember the senti-

ment you choose will forever be

etched in stone.)

                -30-

Chris Hanch 9-5-2020

On Display

 

As a child in grammar school when I could,

I would draw little pictures in class while the

other kids did their math. Instead of homework

assigned each day, I would draw my little pic-

tures regardless of what the teacher might say.

At an early age I came to realize that I would

not grow up to become a doctor, a lawyer or

a scientist. I had no interest in business or en-

gineering. All I really care to do was draw.

And I was pretty good at it too. Got straight

“A”s from kindergarten through the eighth

grade. I never gave a thought as to how I

would make a living when I grew up.

My parents said that most artists don’t earn

a living doing what they love to do. Very few

become a Michelangelo, a Picasso or Monet.

Later on in life I learned for most artists that

proved to be true. Perhaps as a consolation

one day I would be like van Gogh and many

other starving artists who were never renown

while they were alive. Who knows, I might

hang in museums after my demise.

I got to thinking, that would have to be real-

ized long after I was gone. While still alive,

however, the only way to be hung in the Gug-

genheim or the Louvre would be with a rope

strung up in the rafters, and I dangling with a

noose around my neck. But even that would

not be acceptable in most reputable museums

today.

Besides that’s not the most attractive and op-

timal placement for an artist’s work to be on

display anyway. At my age, and given my sit-

uation, suppose I’ll have to be content posting

my stuff on Facebook every day.

While still alive, Van Gogh could have used

the 40-million dollars one of his paintings

would have brought him today.

I would have settled for less, and as it

turned out, I did.

                         -30-

Chris Hanch 9-3-2020

My Ground Hog's Day

 

It’s Ground Hog’s Day over and over again.

I’ve read this poem before, several times

in fact, one of Bukowski’s drunken rants.

I know the lines I’m reading, even know

where he’s going before I reach the end.

But you see I have this problem with ADD

dyslexia, and I can’t memorize or repeat

the words verbatim. Thank God.

Having that heavy psychotic weight on my

mind, and thinking about it over and again,

would drive me bat shit crazy. So, half way

there already, I close the book and go on.

                    -30-

Chris Hanch 9-3-2020

Suive Moi

Trust me. I know what I’m doing.

I’ve been at this a long, long time.

Now, breathe in and out deeply.

That’s it, several more.

Now, down on your hands and knees.

Gently let yourself down, chest on

the floor. Slowly, push yourself up.

Now, repeat, up then down.

Come on now, four or five more.

You can do this.

Up you go, on your feet.

Bend over and touch your toes.

Again, another, again, three more.

Good. Now jump up and down.

Arms up high, feet spread wide.

Feet back together, hands too.

Ten times. You’ve got this.

Now, breathe deeply again.

Trust me. I’ve been doing this

most all my life.

There now, do you feel better?

I thought not, neither do I.

Just wanted someone else to

agree with me.

Let’s get a cup of coffee.

Want a cigarette? I sure could

use one of those myself.

Had a coach in high school…

Had a drill sergeant in the Army…

Saw it done on TV…

Paid good money for the DVD.

That calisthenic exercise crap

never did anything for me.

Gotta light?

          -30-

Chris Hanch 9-2-2020

Things Given, Things Received

 

There is a ledger somewhere,

an accounting of things given

and things received.

There is a balance to achieve.

Sometimes a deficit, once in

awhile a credit to your account.

Mostly, you pay little heed to

your personal balance sheet,

that is until you find yourself

deficient and in the red.

Notices arrive, your payment

is late, overdue. They threaten

you, service will be shut off

should remittance not be made

on or before…

Old friends are much the same.

They don’t call or come to your

door anymore. You haven’t kept

in touch. There’s got to be some

give and take in every worthwhile

relationship.

You may be in need of a good

CPA or Life Coach to keep your

records straight and up-to-date.

I remember my anniversary one

year. Bought the wife a beautiful

bouquet of roses. She told me

I should have spent that money

on more practical things.

It was then I realized, she and I

were operating on different ac-

counting systems. She and I, we

never really did see eye-to-eye.

Seemed with her, I never could

get out of the red.

I have since come to realize that

even on my best days, I never was

very good at math. I believe I have

an inner-ear problem too which

from time to time tends to affect

my balance.

Besides, I never was good with more

than one friend at a time anyway.

              -30-

Chris Hanch 9-1-2020

The Nursing Home

 

Thinking back to 1994 and Loveland, Colorado.

I was working at Sierra Vista Nursing Home as

a van driver. It was my main job to take residents

to doctor’s appointments and on the occasional

day trip to scenic places in the area. It was an

interim job for me, somewhere between, “I know

where I’ve been, but haven’t a clue as to where

I’m going.”

At 47-years old you’d think a guy would be settled

into a job, a career or retired early. Not me in my

wandering, artsy, errant and nomadic way. I took

my artist’s life with me wherever I would go. Since

divorcing from my first wife some ten years earlier,

I have had myriad jobs and lived in a dozen places

in four different cities from Missouri to New Mexico

to Colorado.

A job for me was to pay the rent, put food on the

table and be able to have some energy left for my

art, writing and photography. Driving old folks

around town would be a new inspirational experi-

ence for me. And it was that indeed. One thing of

real value I discovered in my 6-month tenure on

the job was that at any age, whether old or disabled

needing care, a nursing home was no place to be.

The loneliness and despair, the hopelessness was

intolerable to bare. It certainly was not the optimal

and preferable way to pass the last of your days.

I am now retired at 73 and have severe arthritic dis-

abilities. I live alone in a studio apartment in Kansas

City with my small dog. I’m doing my best to manage

the day-to-day on my own. My kids come once every

week or so to do my shopping and cleaning. I have

no transportation and go nowhere.

The thought of a nursing home would be akin to a

death warrant for me. I have photographs I had taken

of several residence I attended to in Loveland back in

1994. The empty, glazed-over eyes, the atrophied limbs

and pallid, paper-thin skin, the failing memories and mind.

Oh, the hopelessness and loss of purpose and worth. All

have passed away now I am sure. But I have these deep

and saddening images of them in their last lonely days

lingering alone the wilderness of waste.

Take it from me, I am now old and I know, a nursing home

is certainly no way to go.

                                 -30-

Chris Hanch 9-1-2020

Changes Made

 

Just you wait, things will go right

again, and likewise over time, things

will most assuredly go wrong.

If you should live through this,

things could have been better,

and the worst could have been

a whole lot worse.

Things never stay right all the

way, and the wrong too will

never stay, until the end that is.

Take Auschwitz, Hiroshima

and 9-11 for instance. Think

of systemic racism and social

injustice. Only the survivors

have a chance at change

and a better way.

Ah, but then wait for it—

inevitably, either way,

for better or for worse,

the pendulum swings,

things are bound to change.

It could have been you who

had something to say.

             -30-

Chris Hanch 8-31-2020