NOW must I these three praise —
Three women that have wrought
What joy is in my days:
One because no thought,
Nor those unpassing cares,
No, not in these fifteen
Many-times-troubled years,
Could ever come between
Mind and delighted mind;
And one because her hand
Had strength that could unbind
What none can understand,
What none can have and thrive,
Youth’s dreamy load, till she
So changed me that I live
Labouring in ecstasy.
And what of her that took
All till my youth was gone
With scarce a pitying look?
How could I praise that one?
When day begins to break
I count my good and bad,
Being wakeful for her sake,
Remembering what she had,
What eagle look still shows,
While up from my heart’s root
So great a sweetness flows
I shake from head to foot.
NOTE: Life’s not easy. It takes heaps of courage to stay the course, accept responsibility, and never quit. I often think of my mom and dad as heroes. They were uneducated and poor, yet I never felt poor. They didn’t talk about their poverty. We worked as a family to grow a large garden. We walked and took public transportation until I was in sixth grade and they could afford a car. Even though I grew up in a tenement building next to factories and the railroad tracks, the four room cold water flat seemed like a mansion to me. There was love and always the smell of sauce or pasta fazool cooking. They did what they had to do day after day so the family would survive. That’s often all it takes to be a hero, taking responsibility and doing what you have to do.
In Episode 46 of my podcast, Journey from Grief to Healing, M offers me some tough truths about grieving and suffering I did not want to hear. That’s what good friends do. She took a risk and it made all the difference for me and moved me closer to healing.
You can listen to Episode 46 on your favorite podcasting app or click here for Episode 46.
Don’t forget to hit the subscribe button to receive notifications of future episodes.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!
Pru and I share our conversation with you in our latest Daughter and Dad Podcast. It’s fun, nothing serious, no drama, just a daughter and dad who enjoy each other talking about whatever comes up. Hope you’ll give us a thumbs up and subscribe.
