Friday, 12 July 2013
When my father died my mother -
According to the family style -
Kept going; that he died
Speaking of his Lord to a sick friend
As a saint being saintly,
Comforted. Yet later she admitted
That that day her song-bird
Died in her too.
When her brother Tom died
That was more bitter:
Instantly, in a bookies,
As a sinner being sinful
With no known regard
For grace and faith. Had he,
Backed the wrong horse?
Her brother Bobby’s death
Came to her in an envelope
From an Australian social worker.
If he was a wanderer wandering
She took comfort from two words,
Now, day by day, doors close;
A bus is a step too high,
Shops a step too far, “home” -
Her birthplace, a road too long.
In faith and grace, and mild humour,
She keeps going, patient for
Her Lord has in mind for her.
My mother is now with the Lord; she fell asleep through Jesus very peacefully in the early hours of this morning. The poem above was written several years ago. Her time of keeping going is now over.
"We are confident, I say, and pleased rather to be absent from the body and present with the Lord", 2 Corinthians 5: 8.