Sunday, August 19, 2012

"Mom died"

It's been 47 years. Very few years that I've fogotten and not mourned again. I wanted to paste in her picture, but I don't seem to have one electronically on this computer, and can't access my nephew's database where I know there are some.

Remembering Mom and Dad

Mom died at night; a painful death, they say.
Three children mourned. Then age thirteen, I cried,
though not as much as Dad about the way
Mom died.

Despite his nightshift job, this hero tried
to raise us right. He faced the world's array
alone. Steadfast, he took no second bride

who might divide his time. Would he betray
that sacred trust? No way. I've much relied
on what Dad taught, and always kept the day
Mom died.

3 comments:

Poppy Herrin said...

Love that poem!

Susan said...

How hard that must have been. I loved the way you memorialized that time in "Mom's Letter." My sympathy ...

David A. Todd said...

Thanks Poppy.

Thanks Susan. It was a long time ago. Still, certain scenes are as fresh to me as when they happened.