Old poems
hold the bitter sweet marrow
until I return to them
remembering experiences wholly
and can smile anyway.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is for the napowrimo prompt #30, free day (and farewell). Visit the post to see the details of this prompt.

Since we could choose anything to write about, I thought I’d extol the virtues of old poems with another one about my daddy.

And the smell of him
when he returned home
from a business trip.
He had hugs
and kisses all around.
And conversations for mom.
They exchanged
home updates and trip recaps
while my brothers and I
rummaged through
the designated suitcase for souvenirs.
I got T-shirts neatly packed.

I put them in my shirt drawer
so it smelled of
dad, security, home.

Interestingly now,
some odd days
a look in my neatly folded
t-shirt drawer
catches me up in a whirlwind
that blows in the memories
that trigger the familiar,
missed scent that was my dad’s
and I’m home wherever I land.

© 2010 Shari Lynne Smothers

This poem is for the napowrimo prompt #16, what’s that smell Visit the post to see the details of this prompt.

After doctor visits
just me and him or with other family
in hospitals and waiting rooms,
examinations, procedures, and treatments
hours spent in fruitless and unavoidable worry,
we finally got the doctor’s
last words on the matter;

Whatever they decided to do
whatever dad accepted to be put through
he didn’t have much time to be here with us,
they were sure they couldn’t fix him.

My life moving on felt like
a betrayal to dad who’s life was coming to a close
and everything was heavier.
Still, I continued doing what I knew I had to
placing everything I could on my automatic list,
with breathing and swallowing
because everything I thought to do
became easier to just skip it.

And then one shimmering
breezy September afternoon,
I was driving alone when I laughed aloud
and had to admit it—
I can’t recall the song, joke
or thought that brought me to it,

but that was the day I knew
that even through my profound grief
over the impending loss of my father,
in my soul I would eventually know joy again.

©2009 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: Write a poem about a memorable person or event. Day 30 of the 2009 November PAD Chapbook Challenge, from Poetic Asides.

Mom has moved them now
but these and other little things
that spark so many memories,
I hang onto
and quietly cherish them.

©2009 Shari Lynne Smothers

Prompt: Write a hanging poem. This is my poem for Day 15 of the November PAD Chapbook Challenge 2009, from Poetic Asides

In our brief visits
when my brothers and I
were children,
I got to experience
life very different
with cousins I didn’t know
who became friends fast,
as we usually only had the day.

They showed me where
to tiptoe close in
to yellow jacket nests
in the tall grass
just so we could run
when they swarmed.
I passed time
checking out the cows and bulls,
wondering how an old rickety fence
was actually enough
to corral the beasts.

I remember running backwards
with my daddy and his cousins
across a front yard
maybe belonging my great-grandparents’.
It seemed to last forever,
extending further
the harder I wished
to finally reach the porch.
Once I got there
no strength left
I sat waiting for lemonade
all out of breath
and still rooting for my daddy
who raced his cousins again.

Coming from the city
everything
seemed old and rustic out there.
It was thrilling!
I was inside one of those
cowboy movies
I used to watch
back at home in New Orleans.

No particular movies
come to mind
only the sense that I loved
watching them
and eating salted tomatoes,
just my daddy and me.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

My grandmother died March 30, 2003. It was painful and breathtaking. And then…

Maybe ten days later, my father was rushed to the ER. Blood clots were killing him. By the time I got to the hospital, dad’s heart had stopped and he’d been resuscitated twice.

The doctor working with him asked if we wanted to sign DNR papers. I didn’t want that and I was certain my mom didn’t, but she was so distraught she couldn’t make the decision.

My dad died twice more and was revived without having to crack his chest, before my mom made her decision. In fact, she never made the decision.

My dad stabilized again and this time they were able to move him to the ICU for monitoring. None of his doctors expected him to get better. In defiance of all expectations, he got better. Slowly, steadily, and the doctors just watched. No surgery, just monitoring and maintaining his breathing and blood pressure.

He’ll be Fine

The next day, I was in his hospital room. I’d never seen him waylaid and it was unnerving. At the door, I hesitated to see him with all those tubes coming out of his body, and the ventilator breathing for him. I watched him for a moment longer, adjusting to seeing my dad look so human, so mortal. I touched his foot, then his hand, then his arm. I whispered in his ear, I love you, dad.

My twenty minutes was up and the same hesitation I had entering the room came to me again as I was leaving. At the foot of his bed, I turned to look at him even though it grieved me so, to see him down like this. I knew that if I could, I would have switched places with him. Suddenly, quietly as if a voice whispered in my ear, I heard in my head, no need, he’ll be fine.

I trusted that voice, and told my mom about it. And I was done worrying. I was just waiting for him to get better. I still hated to see him go through all that he had to. He was conscious only infrequently. One Saturday, I went to visit him before a picnic. I talked and he would nod a little. And then my time was up. I said I love you dad and he squeezed my hand. I was so excited that tears escaped my eyes. And he smiled because he knew he got to me. With a lump in my throat, I think I floated out of his room that day.

His Healing Affected Many

Dad had a team of doctors each in the top of his field and no one could explain why he was getting better. One doctor named it the miracle it was. He said they weren’t doing anything for my dad that they hadn’t done for many other patients before him. Most of them didn’t get better–at all. Another of his doctors would stop in, check the machine and vitals and leave shaking his head in dismay. That was the doctor that offered my mom the DNR papers.

Attempts to take him off the ventilator failed until they gave him a bronchoscopy to clear his lungs. That was all it took. He got off the ventilator and never went back.

When my dad left ICU alive, he went on the ward. A very special nurse who cared for him in ICU came up to see him one day. She always talked to my dad in ICU. On this particular visit, my dad talked back. His throat was still sore from the ventilator pipe, so it was a whisper but it was his voice. Her tears flowed. She told him to keep talking and please excuse her; she explained that it was the first time she’d heard him at all.

From the hospital ward, my dad was transferred out to a rehabilitation facility to get his strength and coordination back, so that he could function normally again. You see, he suffered no permanent damage to his motor skills. The day he was leaving the hospital, the ER nurse who took care of him the first day was there. He reached up to my dad in the ambulance and shook his hand. With red, tearing eyes, he hugged my mom, my brother and me one after the other. He explained that in his job he didn’t get to see cases like my dad come to happy conclusions.

Rehabilitation got him to the point where he could go home safely. I drove my dad home from that facility and we never looked back. At home we had to tell him to slow down because he was still recovering. His days were filled with big events, travels and small events too. There were graduations, swearing in’s, weddings, births, Hurricane Katrina, relocation to Houston, fights with insurance companies, trips back and forth. Four years was given to us all.

Time to Go

Then, in April 2007 he was diagnosed with lung cancer. October 25, 2007 my dad died. This time I knew it was coming–not that I ever stopped hoping. I knew that I was strong enough.

My Lessons from the Mountaintops

Erwin Raphael McManus wrote “Gratitude is the healing ointment for brokeness.” And I know it to be true.

What I learned is that gratitude can see me through even the harshest things. Gratitude is how I made it through. It’s a funny thing gratitude. From a little girl, when I tried to be upset or disappointed about something, my mom would say, count your blessings, name them one by one. It was frustrating sometimes but I did it. So, I grew into a habit of gratitude. Still, to experience it in action, on big things, is profound.

Today, I miss my dad–like salt. I have a life time of memories to sustain me. And this: Throughout the time he was ill, I was available to him, helping him, keeping him company, talking to him when he didn’t have strength to talk anymore. And I am grateful beyond words, beyond measure that I was there for him.

I wrote this for the Middle Zone Musings June group writing project, What  I Learned From…a Mountaintop Experience

I meant to ask my mom
what does the count
feel like without him.
But it sounds in my head
a little too morose even for me.
Even though, to help me understand,
she’d probably
try to
find the words to say her grief.
Hoping I’m sure that naming it
could somehow put her in control of it.

It’s the poet in me
that is willing
eager even, to sit with a pain
pulling it apart to know it.

Protecting myself
I get rational
logical, my dad would say
reflecting on all the times
when my breath catches
as though he was newly gone from me.

Counting occasions
as the blessings I had
each one signifies, in its turn
my dad’s not here anymore;

Mine are enough anniversaries
to wade through missing him.
For their wedding, I’ll leave it
to my imagination.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

I never could see that much
in the faces of new-borns
wrinkled and otherwise nondescript
even in my family.
Maybe my eyes were never
quite trained to it
and remain as yet
undeveloped.

My mom tells the story
that when my dad’s mom
first laid eyes on me
she said ‘I got one.’

I still wonder
how she saw it that day
that I’d grow to have her face
as mine.
But she was right
and so pronounced is our likeness
until all the family
knows who I’m from.

©2009 by Shari Lynne Smothers

I was preparing to leave my dad’s hospital room. He was very sick with cancer and other complications. He had suffered and recovered from setbacks that required surgeries, but he couldn’t seem to shake everything. Blood clots were his problem four years earlier and he still was plagued with them. We saw him through so much, but he was leaving us.

This day was a peculiarly gentle, warm day nearing fall. It had rained and then the sun came beaming out. It hurt every time leaving my dad in the hospital because I knew how much he hated being there. It didn’t matter that he was understanding about my leaving, he complained enough for me to understand that his heart wasn’t in that. And I understood that because I knew his personality. Still, I had to keep things in perspective so that I could just keep going. This particular day, dad was not ready for me to leave, and asked for different things “before you leave.”

Light in the Middle Parts

I stayed a little longer and did a few more things for him and just sat awhile longer. I told him that I’d return tomorrow, or maybe even pass back after I finished my errands. His spirits lifted and I was content that he was satisfied. As I left the hospital, I started to feel a little lighter because with just a little more time, dad was better prepared to be without family for the evening. Driving down the street the day was shimmering and such a feeling came over me. It was a promise I could almost hear. I called my mom, I just couldn’t wait to get to her house. I told her that things were about to change for us all. Mom asked me, “Like what? What do you mean?” “I don’t know really. That’s all I got.” She said okay and that she felt that way too.

In the weeks that passed, dad started to show some improvement. And he did get a little better—enough to get home. I got some good job offers. My youngest brother came to town to see my dad before he got really sick. My family and friends kept my mind occupied and life just felt tolerable with good stuff in the middle. I was laughing and talking and appreciating good things that were coming my way, as I grieved the illness that had invaded my dad’s body.

I was talking to one friend and he asked my how I was doing. I told him I was well, and that made me pause because I didn’t know how I was well. It was amazing to me that in the face of my abject sorrow, I was still able to smile and laugh from my soul—I could still touch my joy.

Dad went back into the hospital a time or two and each time I went with him. When I could, I spent the whole day with him. We would talk about the things that I was working on, like my editing course, or learning HTML. Sometimes he would sleep, and he would apologize for not being a good host. It never mattered to me and I told him so. Sometimes we would both sleep. We just spent time at the hospital then at home. After a time, my daddy died at home.

Always Learning: Lessons are Everywhere

Looking back now over these 7 months since my dad died, and I try to track how we got through it. I wasn’t as “prepared” as I thought I’d be, and yet I survived. I appreciated all the good things that dad and I did for each other, and the time that we spent. It came to me one day when I was considering how it is that I survived:

There’s plenty of excitement in my days. Life has a way of showering down graces like mercies in difficult times. And I am drenched with reasons to be grateful.

It’s easy to be grateful for the good things that come my way, no matter how small. What was a deliberate practice years ago is now a habit of gratitude. The other part that helps me is searching for the meaning in difficult times. In my darkest times, I try not to get maudlin. But I do try to take a straight-on look at things; my goal is to take up some treasure from the muck. Writing them down helps to soothe me. The poem Life Lessons (at the end of the post, I Write for Me First) is from a sifting expedition; one that took me passed the why and straight to appreciation.

Death and why
don’t sit together in me for long.
It makes me feel too inept.
Because without exception,
I come back to accepting that
it happens
just
because.

This past Mother’s Day weekend, I met up with my mother in New Orleans, Louisiana. She was there to celebrate with her Dillard University graduating class, their 50th Reunion. It is a big deal to the University as it may be at other universities as well. And it was special to classmates. You see, their Dillard University class studied and lived and grew as a community. They were part of each others’ lives. Some had matriculated from as far back as grade school together. It was very special to me too, for different reasons.

My mom introduced me to the man who sang at her and daddy’s wedding. She introduced me to a lady who was stunned by how much I look like my daddy. And Aromenta’s familiar face that was part of my growing up years.

I watched my mom enjoy herself. And I paid attention to her appreciation for the life she lived and how she lived it. Even though they didn’t keep in touch regularly, these friends seemed to delight in their time togetherr. Mom introduced me to one man, and I moved to shake his hand. He held out his arms and said, “Mackie’s daughter? I have to hug you.” People made it a point to tell me how highly they thought of my dad. There’s so much I took away from the two days that I spent with mom and her classmates, so much feeling and appreciating.

It seems I watch my mom a lot more closely since my dad died. And, I watched her spend time with her friends, talking and catching up before they go their separate ways. She and they seemed to take full advantage of the time that they had. No matter how often I watch them spend time with their friends, the fundamental lessons I take from them are lived out before my eyes. And my mom reinforced them once again:

1. First, carry on
2. Second, cherish my history
3. Third, never underestimate the power of friendship

Appreciating Where I’m From

My mom, Helen, is on the left
and her dear friend Roxy on the right.
They’re smiling together
posing for the photo,
chatting,
reveling in the moment.

I shot the picture
remembering Roxy dancing
in my parents’ bedroom on Annette Street.
She’d come by to see our new baby;
probably it was my brother Damon.

I remember how I was enthralled by her dancing.
I’d managed to stay in the room
as the grown-ups chatted.
Her energy filled the room
the hem of her mini skirt shimmied
her necklace almost touching it
swaying as she and my mom laughed
and shared girl talk and friendship.

Time has passed and geography separates them.
My daddy always nearby
is now passed away almost seven months.
What I see watching mom and her friends,
their expressions as they talk together
the bonds forged in their youth
is only more seasoned, a given,
unmoved by the distance between them.

It was a lovely day, warm with a nice breeze
blowing silently through the majestic oaks,
clear enough for my cameras to
capture what I wanted to keep.
My dad almost made it
but my mom’s still here to celebrate it.
In me is enough of both of them
to attend, appreciate and enjoy
the friendships they forged
and be back in time for work on Monday.
I was able to send pictures
and details to my family
who couldn’t be in attendance.
In all of this I am thankful.

And I continue.
Life is good with all that’s gone from me.
I’m grateful for all I have
and events and time and stuff left to do.
Whatever will be my future,
at these events, I glimpse insights of
parts and people that impacted my parents
who in turn shaped me.
I like knowing.

© 2008 by Shari Lynne Smothers

A few things I must make clear. First, I said that my dad made me know things. I didn’t say “he told me” because it’s a different way of communicating when it’s out of body. The reason I was frustrated and stressed was because I was trying to make people move to help me with dad’s funeral program. You see he had died two days before.

Anyway, I took his advice, calmed down and had some ice cream. It turned out that he was right and everything worked out even better than I thought it would. My mom was pleased. According to my own assessment, I believe that my dad would have liked the way things went as well. So, really, holding onto my stress would not have done me any good. Most probably, it would have impeded my progress.

All the lessons I learned in my life are made manifest time and again throughout my experiences. Everything happens for a reason. Every thing in its own time. And really, whatever the hurdle, there is a blessing in the mix, if you sift and wait and let it rise to the top. Attending to life gives profoundly real and realized meaning to “It’s all good.” Look a little closer, even in the midst of turmoil, try to be empty of stress and worry, sit with an open heart and a receptive spirit. If you do it right, you’ll see them too, gifts of insight and assurance.