Blessings Dear Late Mum And Dad
By skinner_jennifer
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Mum was a lady who once sang at her daily
chores, when all was well, an opera would sail
from her sweet lips, voice lost in an epic romance,
while roses bloomed in her garden and starry eyes
held onto pleasures – until sadness took the helm
she was unable to hold back those waves of tears.
Heavy was her burden as old age took form,
even when ocean of life was calm, imagined
fears would fade...then reappear unexpectedly
to entice an already unsteady trust. It must have
been hard confronting those demons that brought
humiliation; and in the end was mum's demise.
They said she had ravings of dementia that would
bubble over in her mind, but I saw a lady who was
lost by ravages of time with no release, cornered by
floods of misunderstanding.
When you reach out to be unshackled, but nobody
comes, chains become heavy: the clanking never
seems to end. So she closed petals on her blooms,
wished spirit to fly. All I wish is that you went through
tunnel of bright light to a place of eternal happiness.
***
Thinking about you dad at this time of Samhain,
how you taught me to be independent, face all
obstacles full on, and not to forget where I came
from. How those words resonate with me today.
Remembering as I stood motionless at your
bedside on that early morning, unable to fully
comprehend you final end. “He'll last another
night,” they said...where hands once warm
trembled then went cold as ice at dawn's first light.
Now as eve of Halloween approaches with waning
of crescent moon, your flame loiters mellow upon
fading impressions. Once recalling those restful
eyes sleeping, until solemn calling of the end
brought you relief. I imagined those winding
personal visions when you died and lost reality.
It's been many years since your passing, but late at
night I do wonder if somewhere up in the darkness
of space you are there as part of the universe, a star
maybe now bright, or flying across galaxies on your
last personal journey, becoming one with the heavens.
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Comments
phew, difficult, but a
phew, difficult, but a journey we all make.
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A touching tribute, Jenny. I
A touching tribute, Jenny. I don't think it gets any tougher than losing a parent(s). I love that last paragraph/stanza, in particular. Paul x
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Hi Jenny
Hi Jenny
It's a beauiful tribute to your parents, and shows how much they meant to you and how you haven't forgotten them.
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What more wonderful way to
What more wonderful way to remember than these two pen portraits - they're beautifully drawn Jenny - well done.
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For years I worked with
For years I worked with elderly people and seeing them caught by dementia used to break my heart. Your words describing your Mum's situation have brought back so many memories of complete strangers who I came to love before slowly but ultimately losing them. Lovely memories tinged with sadness. It's such a hurtful illness, especially for those who can only watch and hope. And of course people pass for other reasons which are also heartbreaking.
Writing a poem about a loved one is the sweetest thing. These tributes to your parents are particularly so.
Good on you Jenny.
Good on you Jenny.
Turlough
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This is lovely, Jenny. It
This is lovely, Jenny. It struck a real chord with me - in a few days it will be the anniversary of when I lost my dad, and you capture so well how those moments stay with us, happy and sad. Until my parents died, I was a bit sceptical of people saying 'there isn't a day goes by when I don't think of him or her', but it's absolutely true. I found a lot of joy and comfort in your poem. Thank you.
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These are so full of light,
These are so full of light, your parents sound so vivid and warm. I think they must have been special people to have you as a daughter, and now you mirror their light back out into the world with your writing.
I am like you, afraid of getting dementia as my Dad did. I don't know if this is relevant at all, but I don't feel someone who can write with such richness of vocabulary, sensitivity and innovation as you can have a speck of dementia. Dementia is a sign of dimminishment, not the inspiring vitality of your writing
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I think so? If part of what
I think so? If part of what your Mum suffered from was a feeling of isolation and not being able to communicate with anyone how she felt, then you are in a much much better place! You definitely matter to lots of people, including me, don't know what I would do without your poems to cheer me up
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