I Think of You Often, Dad

I think of you often, Dad, but especially on this day.

Thank you for teaching me the importance of honour, respect, and service.

Thank you for crying when you thought of the friends you lost during the war; it taught me that it was okay to cry when you are sad.  You showed me a vulnerable side that you must have had to hide when you were at war.  There was no time, then, to mourn.  At least, no time to pause and reflect.

Thank you for sitting with me and sharing your stories with me.  I know they were not always easy ones to tell and you’d rather think of the happy times.  Your stories are important and I do re-read them when I want to reconnect with you.  You always told me how surprised you were that people found them interesting – you were humble.

I think of you often.

I remember not understanding what you did when you marched in parade.  I was too young.  You dressed up in your Air Force blue and left the house.  Your mood was “off”.  You were “on duty”.  The day was somber.  The mood was somber.  I watching images on television of people dressed like you – all marching.

I remember when I began to understand your service to this country – but could not relate.  Not at all.  How could anyone imagine what happened?  The risk you took every day?  The reason you left?  The joy you felt returning home?

I remember when you couldn’t march anymore, so we watch the Remembrance Day service on the living room couch.  I hated watching you cry, but it was your tears that helped me understand the emotions of war – somewhat.  I can’t pretend I have a clue how you really felt, but I did get a small snap shot.

I think of you often, Dad.

And I miss you.  How many families were left fatherless, motherless?  Without a son or a daughter?  They were missed/ you are missed.

And often, especially today, are remembered.

When I watch the service today, Dad, I will think of you and remember your tears, your years of sacrifice.  I will do my very best to honour you, to pass along your legacy, and to teach my own children about you – Dad.

So they will think of you often, too.

 

My Amuse – bouche

It’s almost time  – that time again

When I can pick and choose

A salmon steak, a cold boiled egg –

Ma bouche will be amused.

To rid my palate of that taste

That taste which I do dread

Becomes my goal, my aim, my fight

I’d prefer most anything instead –

Seven horse pills I swallow whole

And gag with every one

To keep the cancer well at bay

I’ll continue till I’m done

The acrid smell, the vile taste

Lingers on my tongue

Until

The time arrives when I can eat

And that taste becomes undone.

Rejoice in food in which flavor reigns

Each morsel  – every one

To taste of life, to sip of wine

A pleasure second to none!

 

 

 

 

Please note that there are no new posts on High Flight – my blog is now called In the Corner.

Here is the link:  In The Corner

Thank-you for reading and perhaps following!

Sincerely,

Stacey

That’s okay

I went to fitness this morning – and that’s about all I did – went.

And Vandie said, “That’s okay.  At least you got here.  Good for you for coming.”

I did half the fitness routine and had to stop.

And Janet said, “That’s okay. Listen to your body.  Some days will be better than others. Good for you for trying.”

I got frustrated and cried.

And Vandie and Janet said, “That’s okay, Stacey.  You need to be kinder to yourself, more gentle. Be patient.”

So, I got through the class – did the stretches and went home.

On my drive home I felt fantastic.

By the time I arrived at home I had decided to go for that walk I missed this morning with Kevin.

I walked slowly.  But I made it.

And I said to myself, “That’s okay.  Tomorrow will be easier.  Good for you.  You did it.”

Thanks, Vandie and Janet, for turning my attitude around so that I can have a great day!

The stand after the fall

Nothing like a good fitness class to clear your mind.

I went to Vandie’s class today carrying the weight of my memories.

At first, those memories were heavy and indeed felt like lead weights.

I got mad.

I fought back – and kept pushing.

I forgot about the memories trying to focus on the class.

The music propelled me through.

I felt great – I had a bounce in my step.  I heard the music.

I enjoyed the beat and lost myself for a while.

My heart pounded like it would explode.

I was MAD!  NO!  I would NOT stop!  I pushed through.

Screw the pain – screw the past – screw cancer.

For then – for now – I am the victor – not the memory.

I was lost in fitness and it felt wonderful.

I still feel wonderful.  I realize it takes more courage to go back to fitness than it does to do fitness.

It is the stand after the fall that is the toughest part.

It is the living after the near-death that is the greatest challenge.

To return is to face your weakness – whatever it may be.

So – back I go.

And I’ll go again.  I WILL step out of the shadows of cancer.  Damn it!

Silver Threads

Tiny bits of tinsel tumble to the ground

I look at myself in horror and realize what I’ve found

Bits of silver and bits of grey that made my healing clear

Have taken leave of my head and headed out in fear

Two more to go – two more to go

Tiny bits of tinsel tumble from my head

I wish it not to abandon ship but stay in place instead

My wig stands by upon the shelf in hope of active duty

To make me queen of the day – perhaps a wigged beauty

Two more to go – two more to go

Tiny bits of tinsel linger where I sleep

I dream at night and hope all day – my hair that I could keep

Alas it does not seem to be in the cards this day

Instead, my hair, once more it seems will soon be gone away

But

Only

Two more to go – two more to go

Then

Again

The silver threads I may keep!

From the Archives

Funeral Parade

Funeral Parade.

WAG the Tail

WAG the Tail.  A World War II story from my Dad.

Bug Patrol

Bug Patrol.