This Side of the Grass

I took Mom to see Dr. Lerner again today. He gave her an updated eyeglass prescription and told her he wanted to see her again in six months. Then he said he would want to see her again a year after that if he was "still on this side of the grass". I couldn't help but laugh because I'd never heard it put that way before. "Every two days, every two weeks, every two months..." he said. Every day is a gift, especially when a 94th birthday is just around the corner.
"How's Martha?" he asked my mother, his back toward me.

"I'm good," I answered, and he turned around.

"I remember you from when you were a little girl," he said.

I knew he remembered, and he knew I knew. He was the one who did my eye surgery so many years ago when I was so small, probably just three or four years old. I'd seen him in my early twenties when my eyes were driving me batty. He had been at the memorial service for my grandfather in 1999, and again made an appearance when my father died ten years later in 2009. Back then I blogged, "I saw him right away when he entered the church cafe and went to greet him. He held my hand, spoke kind words and lingered long. I felt the tenderness in his touch. Known for being harsh and gruff, there was no sign of anything but gentleness and sympathy."

Today he gave me a hug and kissed my cheek as I hugged him back. There is a good possibility I may never see him again, and it almost felt like a final goodbye. It almost makes me sad, but then again, he doesn't appear to be headed off the scene anytime soon. Last night I came upon a quote, "I must lose myself in action, lest I wither in despair." - Alfred Lord Tennyson. I think this fits my friend Dr. Lerner quite well, and I hope when we return to his office next fall that he will still be "on this side of the grass".

PS. How do you like my bucketful of deadheaded daffodils?