Jimmy and me were sleeping
When Mum knocked on the door
And Said "It's Time."
We knew, but we were too young to know.
So we knelt around the bed
Clutching our rosaries.
Janet, Peter, Jimmy and Julie
Saying goodbye to a man we never knew.
Dad.
He never beat us though he had strapped us;
Mum did that,
Dad wept more than us when he had to aplly the belt.
Measured, but deserved.
And that time somewhere in France
When he actualllly cursed on hot rabbit stew!
Somewhere between La Sallette and Le Leux.
The sticks!
Those irritatating irresplaceable crutches.
The stigma of a strong man gone weak.
And Fred at the local garage saying:
"I shouldn't pass this car
But I know you only go to church
And the Derby and Joan"
And looked at Mum and said :
"I can't take that away from him!"
So we knelt.
Janet, Peter, Jimmy and Julie
Mum at the end of the bed.
And I saw his spirtit! Soul rise!
The candles didn;t gutter
No cold winds; no eerie feel
He was never that sort.
He just laughed.
A deep gut pulling invitation
To enjoy the jest.
And he stopped.
I can never rember Dad teling me he loved me or me teling him I loved him. I never had time to mourn him, because I suddenly became the 'man of the house" at his death. At 17 it was a little more heavy a burden than I was ready. Everything else is true . The spirit over the bed while he laughed are physical phenomena that I experienced. And I still wish I had told him.
Glad that you took the time to write this one. You needed to get the hurt out--bugging you all these years. I'll forgive you the little spellos and other errors.
Ron
P.S. My Dad's still kicking at 82. Getting back to the links after a long bout with Shingles. He never really forgave me for being unable to play a round with him.
Reviewed by Marjorie Coogle (Reader)
Reviewed on August 2, 2002
Great write. My dad was in his sixties before he told me he loved. I knew from his actions he did but the words made it real. I guess that's why we write. We need the words to validate the actions.
Hi Peter, we have not connected in some time.
In my heart and, like you, in my Experience, I know this is True--I believe if the Knowing of the Love had not been mutual, you could not have had this quality of experience. My Mom and I had a commitment to contact each other, regardless who went first. She came to me, spontaneously, three days after she died. Thanks for the opportunity to share. Vicky
Reviewed by Masarat Daud (Reader)
Reviewed on August 1, 2002
This is life, but everything happens for a good. Sometimes parents do something that we just hate but later on, we just sigh about it and realize it was all fine...
Maybe so Peter but I think you both already knew that deep down inside. You wrote this so well that I was able to imagine everything so readily. It could not have been done any better than this. Of this, I am convinced my friend.
Amor
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I worked with my father for twenty years, and We were close. I was 47 when he died, and imagine it was terribly hard at 17. lgl
Glad that you took the time to write this one. You needed to get the hurt out--bugging you all these years. I'll forgive you the little spellos and other errors.
Ron
P.S. My Dad's still kicking at 82. Getting back to the links after a long bout with Shingles. He never really forgave me for being unable to play a round with him.
In my heart and, like you, in my Experience, I know this is True--I believe if the Knowing of the Love had not been mutual, you could not have had this quality of experience. My Mom and I had a commitment to contact each other, regardless who went first. She came to me, spontaneously, three days after she died. Thanks for the opportunity to share. Vicky
Good write Peter!
Amor