My daughter taught me how to make sour-dough bread.
Or rather, ‘mind’ it for her when she went away. I was told to
nurture it, as one would a child. Feed the dough, daily.
To enhance its rising – talk to it, from time to time.
Crazy as it sounds, all these things I did! Except …
when she finally came to bake it – the loaf took a nose dive.
Never was I asked to ‘bread-sit’ again!
She taught me, one can’t have too many vases, too many flowers;
the rudiments of how to literally ‘shop until I dropped’ and yet still
have time to lunch – the incurable shopaholic she was.
Showed me the ropes on how to give ‘the kiss of life’, with the aid
of her blow-up mannequin, ‘Resusci-Anne’. I laughed till I cried –
that Friday afternoon, long-since past.
How best to construct a compost heap; how to grow anything
and everything from seed. Made me appreciate the beauty
of common and garden weeds.
“After all,” she posed the question. “Isn’t a weed just a plant –
decides to grow in a place of its, not of our, choosing?” A glint
in those misty, grey-green eyes.
Taught me to savour, the everyday things of life; like walking
the dogs, watching the bats at dusk in her back garden.
Rescuing them from Eddy, her incorrigible cat!
That dying, like it or lump it, is an integral part of living; death’s
ominous shadow, a constant companion for twenty years. The rebel
that she was, it only spurred her on; her thirst for life, unquenchable.
And in her dying, she taught me to realise, I wouldn’t be remembered
for how clean my hall floor was. A thing she’d learned too late.
Or so she said. A message she spread, loud and clear.
She also taught me how to climb inside her mind. Her thoughts, mine;
gone – days of band-aids and kisses to make it better. The best
I could do was follow where she led …
And she led me well. On the island she found herself marooned upon,I practiced what she preached. Touch was her life-raft. Her art, explained explicitly, by her drifting off to sleep as I held her hand.
Were she a writer, she would have written a book; a diva – sung it straight from the heart. The star of her own reality TV show, given half a chance. Instead, she just did what she did best. Remained, and truly was, a teacher to the end.
Comments
Nathan Bednarek | March 25, 2009 - 15:28
I'm speechless.
This poem is impossible to describe or comment on. Its honesty and emotion delivers everything one needs to know about you, dear Tina, your daughter and the relationship you had with her. It doesn't matter how I look at this poem, or how it's positioned, angled; it paints a three-dimensional picture and it leaves me speechless ;-)
Love, Nathan.
MistakenMagic | March 25, 2009 - 19:44
Beautiful, beautiful poem Tina. I feel any comments I give would not do it justice. But I will say that the first stanza made me smile so much :)
Magic xxx
Dynamaso | March 26, 2009 - 05:08
Arrghh, we've tried to nurture sour dough and have failed miserably, so don't feel bad.
This is a very moving, beautiful tribute to your daughter. There is so much to like about it, I'm almost gobsmacked. If ever a cherry should be awarded...
andrea | March 26, 2009 - 10:18
This is absolutely marvellous Tina. Very, very moving and beautiful.
Come on Mr T, where's the fruit? In its (hopefully temporary) absence, I'll award it a 'Great Read' :-)
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Silver Spun Sand | March 26, 2009 - 13:25
Thanks so much for reading, folks and if I say, 'Thank you, Andrea' that will just about round it off nicely:-) Oh, and thanks for the 'Great Read' award. Much apreciated;-)
At Andrea's 'Celebration of Life', her friends and colleagues who were at the little chapel for the service, all stood up in turn, and told us what Andrea had taught them, personally. Quite some legacy for quite some lady.
Some of these were in a light-hearted vein - including the Hospice Chaplain who was conducting our little service. He related the lovely story of Andrea teaching him how to massage her feet. A lesson he has never forgotten:-)
Tina
threeleafshamrock | March 28, 2009 - 08:42
Beautiful, touching, sad, happy; memories graciously shared, with a smile or a tear; will remain with me for quite a while and help me appreciate my own daughters for the miracles that they are. Thank you Tina; if this hadn't got a cherry, I'd have painted one on the monitor. Well done, this is special!
Chris XX
Silver Spun Sand | March 28, 2009 - 16:52
And so are you special, Chris, which I am sure is a sentiment shared by your two daughters:-) You don't need me to tell you to 'enjoy' them, because it is so apparent from many things that you say, that you do this already. They do grow up, so very quickly though,and so 'bottle' all those magic moments and keep them to savour when the years have flown.
Thank you, very much, for your kind words.
Tina