To be crippled with arthritis at forty
would give anyone the right to be
a bit chippy.
Grandchildren scattered when she waved
her crutches in matriarchal semaphore,
and I was scolded
for making a mess of the downstairs
toilet hand basin, her private bathroom
when she visited
as she couldn’t manage the stairs.
And on outings, she had to stay
in the car.
Once I returned to see how she was…
Didn’t she mind being left alone?
‘You get used to it,’ she said.
And as she lay dying in a hospital bed
we came to say goodbye unsure if she
knew we were there
until we walked away, and turning
I saw a tear on her cheek and went
back and held her hand
wishing we could swap places
because I knew she hadn’t
‘got used to it.’
John H Davies
29th XII 2010
My Dad died recently so your poem really got to me.
ReplyDeleteHe once said on the subject of death, 'I comfort myself with the thought that everyone seems to get through it.'
My brother thought he was joking, but he wasn't. He was scared.
Keep up the good work.
Ahhhh so true that last comment ...
ReplyDeleteI remember asking my father, Wally, if he was afraid of dying. This was when he had been given 10 days to live having been diagnosed with liver cancer, now nearly 21 years ago. His reply, spoken humbly was: 'Of course I'm scared.'
I love these daily poems John - such a wonderful idea.