Just when I feel the grieving’s done,
that I can remember your life with pride,
tears well, and hurt floods through me again.
No-where to shelter, no place to hide.
Rose lover, chief gardener, Morris dancer,
towering figure, safe harbour, kind teacher.
Authoritarian, exacting, strict and proud,
good and sincere, yet could be a preacher.
Family dramas caused you so much sorrow,
dominance couldn’t hide cracks in perfection.
While your devotion to my mother never wavered,
your children feared the loss of your affection.
Pain gripped your body, as time tempered rage.
In midlife years, you aged and mellowed;
pillar of society and community hero,
much-loved grandfather who never ever bellowed.
Strong-minded, loyal, a rock to rely on,
straight as a die, generous, honest and true.
We constantly talked, sharing teaching and books,
valued each other through and through.
The later years came, your body so worn,
courageous stoic, determined to stay strong.
My mother’s death cut out your heart
and you lost the strength to battle on.
Needing our care, independence torn away,
no longer would you venture outside.
All you could focus your weary eyes on
was joining Mum, your beautiful bride.
I read you poetry on your last day on Earth,
shared our love in the glow of twilight.
Reassured you of your importance and worth.
Then you left my world, snuffing out the light.