Today, I share a very special poem; one written for me by my Dad, when I was sick with pneumonia in 1978. As the young, working Mom of two children, aged 7 and 4, being hospitalized for 11 days, meant that my husband bore the brunt of keeping the home ship afloat while I was hospitalized (a hat he wears so well and un-begrudgingly).
This simple note brought a smile to our faces then, as it does now. Thankfully, I’ve not had a recurrence since, but I’ve kept it carefully stowed away in a hidden compartment of a hollowed-out book. Dad was a bit of a bard himself, writing unpretentious, sincere poems at the drop of a hat. I wish I’d been able to save all of his poems…from the silly ones written to entertain, to the serious poems written to Mom, after a spat (we would find them carefully set on the kitchen table, left for Mom, by him on his way to work).
It taught me the healing power of a lighthearted message of love, and the value of speaking your heart to your loved ones…leaving an invaluable legacy for them.
(PS: Since I inherited my Dad’s handwriting, I am posting a ‘translation’ , following the penned original).
Dear Joanne: (Don’t Laugh)
An Ode to You
Like climbing a very steep hill,
Is the same as getting ill.
Illnesses’ aches and pains reach the top
From there on down, its clip-petty clop.
Pains and aches are soon a past
We who love you knew it wouldn’t last
You’ll soon be back to your old routine
And sparkle once more like a moonlit beam.