Mary Joan Moutoux
April 19, 1941- February 18, 2006
Joni, we miss you more than words can say.
Here's hoping we meet again in a better place!
This book is dedicated to
Mary Joan (Joni) Moutoux,
my wife of 41 years,
who died on February 18, 2006.
Her kindness and optimism inspired those around her.
She was, still is, and always will be
the love of my life.
"Put one foot in front of the other
And soon you´ll be walkin´ ´cross the floor."
- Jules Bass, "Santa Claus is Comin´ to Town"
This is the last sentence of Diagramming Step by Step. The book is dedicated to my wife, Joni.
It is a fact greatly to be wondered at and abundantly to be praised that no man on his wedding day, his mind enraptured by his bride’s beauty and filled with thoughts of love, has ever taken a second to consider that, some years hence, he may be standing at the bedside of his dying wife, whose breathing has become erratic and for whom death is only minutes away, and yet, 41 years after his wedding, a grieving husband watches as his wife, the mother of his three children, the anchor of their family, whose cancer has made it necessary for her to receive all nourishment intravenously for the past five months, takes a final deep breath, after which he waits a minute, two minutes for another breath, knowing that none will follow and that he has lost the greatest treasure he has ever had and can ever expect to have--the woman to whom (you may have guessed) this book has been gratefully and lovingly dedicated.
Holding Hands
On our first date,
I took her hand.
It felt perfect in mine.
We walked that day,
Hand in hand,
Through an ordinary shopping mall.
Hand in hand,
We walked together for 42 years.
On a sidewalk,
Along a beach,
On a country road,
Across a parking lot to a restaurant,
A store, or a school--
Whenever we walked side by side,
Her hand reached for mine
Or mine for hers.
On our dresser we kept an inexpensive statuette--
It is still there today,
A treasure with which I shall not part--
Of characters resembling Linus and Sally
Walking and holding hands.
At the bottom are the words
Love is walking hand in hand.
For me this is a truism.
Two weeks before her death,
We walked hand in hand
From our car to the emergency room.
It was the last time we walked together.
A Wedding Ring
She didn’t want a diamond,
Just a simple wedding band.
And so it was.
She wore the gold ring,
Unembellished,
For 41 years.
I wear it now,
On my little finger.
I took it from her hand
When she died.
She knew I would.
The ring will stay on my finger
Until I die
As a reminder
Of her magnificent spirit--
Of her loyalty,
Friendship,
Optimism,
And courage;
Of her kindness,
Patience,
And gentleness;
Of her love.
I hope that when I die,
My children take the ring
From my hand
And display it proudly.
May it pass to their children
And to their children’s children,
So that generations of descendents
Preserve the memory of the woman
Whom I was blessed to call my wife.
Joni
I talk to her each evening, in bed, before I fall asleep.
She does not answer me, nor have I seen her
In the seven months since death took her from me.
I do not expect to see her or hear her again--
Not in this life,
And who knows what happens after that?
Each night I wonder if she hears me.
I tell her what the day has brought,
About my plans for the next.
I thank her for marrying me,
Loving me,
Not leaving me;
For beautiful children and grandchildren.
I tell her news of neighbors, friends, and family.
I reason that,
If she can hear me,
She must know these things already.
Still I tell her.
Sometimes I ask her to forgive me
For the times I was unfaithful--
No, I have no secret scarlet letter,
But lesser infidelities can be as bad.
I open my arms
And enfold them about her,
Or about empty air.
Two evenings ago I danced with her wedding dress--
An exercise I shall repeat
For it was one of the best dances of my life.
When I sit at my desk,
I see her framed picture before me.
How often I have picked it up,
Kissed it,
Held it close to my heart.
In bed I tell her that I love her
And hope to be with her again someday,
In a happy place,
Somehow.
If all goes as planned, our ashes will lie together
On a Colorado mountainside.
But I yearn for a conscious reunion.
Each night I end with simple words
That have more meaning now
Than ever they did when she was alive:
Good night.
The World According to Joni . . .
After 41 years of marriage, I think I can accurately articulate some of Joni's ideas about living:
Within reason, tell children they are what you want them to become. Place children on pedestals and they will try hard to deserve their lofty status.
What is important is not what people believe but what they do. The thought that some people are refused entry into heaven because they don’t profess a particular faith was repulsive to her.
Beyond essentials, money cannot buy happiness. Joni was just as happy living in a small married-student apartment as she was in a much larger house.
Clothes do not make the person, nor does make-up. She bought very few clothes for herself and wore little make-up.
It accomplishes nothing to worry about things over which one has no control. A positive attitude is a large part of happiness.
Choice of friends should be based on character, not on skin color. Two of Joni’s very best friends were black.
We should all respect nature. She loved hiking, camping, and other outdoor activities.
Daydreaming may be second best to the real thing, but it beats the heck out of frustration and bitterness. Joni was an ardent daydreamer.
By becoming good listeners, people can help other people work out their problems. Joni was a good listener. She spoke very little about herself.
Generosity begins at home. Parents and grandparents should give generously to their children. Joni loved to look through catalogues for just the right presents. Christmas was her favorite holiday.
If you can help someone even after your death, why not do so? Joni donated her body to the University of Louisville School of Medicine.
