Thanksgiving was my Mom’s holiday. Not only did she host it for years, but anyone she knew who didn’t have a place to go, knew they had a welcome seat at her and my Dad’s Thanksgiving table. So it’s not surprising I am waxing nostalgic this week and to counteract my churning feelings, I hunted up some of her poems. (Like mother, like daughter.)
Little Joe
It was a difficult birth on this cold, wintery night
Prayers were answered when all went right
At last, a dark haired, beautiful baby boy
They named him Joseph, this long-awaited bundle of joy
Oh how complete their young lives seemed
Happier than they ever dreamed
His life span wasn’t long
Six days later he was gone
Not a day goes by that I don’t mourn
For my brother, who died before I was born.
(My mother always intensely hated being an only child. Perhaps this is why.)
Counting My Blessings
For us it was love at first sight
That long ago, cool summer night
The Second World War was raging on
Stars in the window for the boys who were gone
Ration stamps, shortages at home, being sent to our servicemen overseas
Telegraph boys – don’t stop at my house please!
After years of waiting for the war to cease
My Air Force hero returned to a world at peace
It was a struggle adjusting to domestic life
We were so young to be man and wife
I was 17 and he was 21and I counted my blessing every day
For the past 68 years we shared before he passed away.
90 Already
Unable to fly, so I gaze at the sky and the jets from afar,
Thankful I’ve got keys and can still drive my car.
Don’t hear as well as I’d like,
And my legs fold at the thought of a hike.
I remember things I’d sooner forget,
And forget to remember what I came to get.
More time with my kids, this they can’t give
Yet they’re the very reason I want to live.
It’s lonesome here without my mate
And I refuse to question the hands of fate.
When my time is up I’ll be ready to go,
but while I’m here I want you to know,
“The Greatest Generation” is where I played a part,
An interesting, exciting lifetime from the very start.
I’m told my experiences were unusual – I tend to agree,
But as a kid that didn’t dawn on me.
I earned every wrinkle and each gray hair,
And at 90 I really don’t care.
To my precious family and very dear friends I have this to say,
Thanks for the ride – it’s been a “trip” all the way.
(Yep, Mom, I get it NOW. I too long for more time with my kids.)
In Good Hands
A people watcher at heart am I,
Watching everyone hurrying by.
Here I am in this huge mall,
Remembering when it was very small.
The shops were few, but quite unique,
From modern and clever to old and antique.
It wasn’t as crowded as it is today,
A safe area for the children to play.
Nothing is as it used to be.
Well, neither am I, just look at me.
Sitting here like a lump on a log.
I can hardly walk, no less still jog.
Our next generation, in plain sight,
Energetic and so very bright.
Contented I’ll be when laid to rest,
That I leave the future to the very best.
In good hands, from what I see today,
To love and protect our U.S.A.
(My mother passed away on her 91st birthday on February 17, 2018, from pancreatic cancer. She was surrounded by her kids.)
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
(I miss you, Mom.)
