(Marcelle Needham 20 Jan 1925 - 21 June 1997)
Those nights that I'd nursed her
and she'd call out my name
she was frightened and lonely
with no one to blame.
Many months of anguish
many days of pain
had wrecked all hope
destroyed all gain.
Now she lay dying
in a coma so deep
her cancer silently
pervading her sleep.
I sat by her side
the stillness of night
her breathing so faint
her breathing so slight.
Memories surfaced
I tried to rapport
I'm sure she could hear
I could have said more.
I held and caressed
her skeletal hand
my anger long gone
my love in command.
I pleaded and bargained
for the spirit to leave
the body that failed her
failed to achieve.
All that the future
had held in it's store
had vanished so cruelly
aspirations no more.
Did I detect
a squeeze of my palm?
a twitch of a nerve?
a need to keep warm?
Heaven was waiting
for an angel unique
one to watch over
those who don't sleep.
The morphine so strong
her dignity gone
the half-light illuminating
a mother and son.
Stubborn, resilient
she could not resist
keeping us waiting
so no one would miss
their last goodbye
their final hello
to a lady once proud
to a lady so low.
But I was not there
when she finally died
I was not there
I've never cried.
Those Nights
Dear Pete ~
I'm as moved by your poem as I was over a year ago, when you first shared it with me, elsewhere. It draws in the sometimes conflictual nature [which is not to say active conflict] of the relationship so many of us have with our parents, as well as the frustration and anger that naturally arise when we become caretakers, and are almost wholly [if not totally] responsible for their well-being. Yet, the pain and tenderness we feel for them when anything goes wrong, and in this case, when all has, finally, gone wrong.
Caretaking is an awesome responsibility that weighs heavily. I watched it with my mother caretaking my dad, and felt it myself, during the times I was there. I can see it in your words; along with the love that was the driving force; the hope and lost hope of many months; and the final acceptance of how death finally came to her. Her frailty and your inability to will her back to life, and your knowing that the release is what she finally needed most. Even the tinge of regret that you could have said more than you did while talking to her. Even in describing her dying, you show who she was in life and your tremendous love for her. Her dignity remains through your words.
The essence of your world during that time really comes through to me with your single phrase, "the half-light illuminating / a mother and son."
If I were to be truly fair, I'd quote a number of other phrases, as well. As you also already know, I understand your final, two lines. Thanks for sharing your beautiful, tender, and bittersweet, love poem here, showing the action that true love really is.
~ Elizabeth
I'm as moved by your poem as I was over a year ago, when you first shared it with me, elsewhere. It draws in the sometimes conflictual nature [which is not to say active conflict] of the relationship so many of us have with our parents, as well as the frustration and anger that naturally arise when we become caretakers, and are almost wholly [if not totally] responsible for their well-being. Yet, the pain and tenderness we feel for them when anything goes wrong, and in this case, when all has, finally, gone wrong.
Caretaking is an awesome responsibility that weighs heavily. I watched it with my mother caretaking my dad, and felt it myself, during the times I was there. I can see it in your words; along with the love that was the driving force; the hope and lost hope of many months; and the final acceptance of how death finally came to her. Her frailty and your inability to will her back to life, and your knowing that the release is what she finally needed most. Even the tinge of regret that you could have said more than you did while talking to her. Even in describing her dying, you show who she was in life and your tremendous love for her. Her dignity remains through your words.
The essence of your world during that time really comes through to me with your single phrase, "the half-light illuminating / a mother and son."
If I were to be truly fair, I'd quote a number of other phrases, as well. As you also already know, I understand your final, two lines. Thanks for sharing your beautiful, tender, and bittersweet, love poem here, showing the action that true love really is.
~ Elizabeth
Elizabeth,
Thankyou for your considered and perceptive response.
I will have mentioned this to you before but will share it with others here.
I wrote this about 3 years ago. This a is how it came out after about 3 drafts and there are parts of it that could be improved in a literary way but that was not the intention of the poem. It is an account of a period of time when my mother was 'hospitalised' at home for the family to take care of her in the family home. The main part of the poem is where I sat by her bed side from dusk until dawn and I talked all night..I presumed she could hear but will never know.
Nights of care before this particular night she was more responsive, but frightened and brave at the same time. I had to atttend to all her needs...at the time I felt that a son should not have to be in a position to do so, for we are not qualified. But this is what we did.
I wasn't sure whether to post this or not but, as you can see from the date yesterday, my thoughts were such that I needed to share it. If it helps others in a similar situation to realise that they are not alone in what they may have to do then that is reason itself.
There is so much more I could have written about my mother's life, before the final months, that portray the excellent way she guided her four sons through life's passageways.... that would warrant a much longer poem or even a book, but I think that will remain in my head to keep guiding me.
All good things
Pete
Thankyou for your considered and perceptive response.
I will have mentioned this to you before but will share it with others here.
I wrote this about 3 years ago. This a is how it came out after about 3 drafts and there are parts of it that could be improved in a literary way but that was not the intention of the poem. It is an account of a period of time when my mother was 'hospitalised' at home for the family to take care of her in the family home. The main part of the poem is where I sat by her bed side from dusk until dawn and I talked all night..I presumed she could hear but will never know.
Nights of care before this particular night she was more responsive, but frightened and brave at the same time. I had to atttend to all her needs...at the time I felt that a son should not have to be in a position to do so, for we are not qualified. But this is what we did.
I wasn't sure whether to post this or not but, as you can see from the date yesterday, my thoughts were such that I needed to share it. If it helps others in a similar situation to realise that they are not alone in what they may have to do then that is reason itself.
There is so much more I could have written about my mother's life, before the final months, that portray the excellent way she guided her four sons through life's passageways.... that would warrant a much longer poem or even a book, but I think that will remain in my head to keep guiding me.
All good things
Pete
Dear Pete ~
Thank you for pointing out the date of your mother's death coinciding with your posting it here. I hadn't noticed that. Realizing that you're not alone, especially in caretaking situations like this, is so important. I sincerely hope it helped at least one other person, or will in the future. I know it helps us to express our love in an open way such as you have done. I have a strong feeling that she heard you as you talked to her all night and that when she left, she did so in peace. You're right that literary excellence has nothing to do with the purpose of your poem, just as Linmag/Linda's wasn't. It sounds like your poem was cathartic for you, as well. I hope you'll continue to share it with others.
~ Elizabeth
Thank you for pointing out the date of your mother's death coinciding with your posting it here. I hadn't noticed that. Realizing that you're not alone, especially in caretaking situations like this, is so important. I sincerely hope it helped at least one other person, or will in the future. I know it helps us to express our love in an open way such as you have done. I have a strong feeling that she heard you as you talked to her all night and that when she left, she did so in peace. You're right that literary excellence has nothing to do with the purpose of your poem, just as Linmag/Linda's wasn't. It sounds like your poem was cathartic for you, as well. I hope you'll continue to share it with others.
~ Elizabeth
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Byron
- Posts: 3171
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- Location: Mad House, Eating Tablets, Cereals, Jam, Marmalade and HONEY, with Albert
Will each of us "and you dear reader" be remembered so lovingly, as we take our places on the next step along? The more I read the more I know, I know so little. Pete and Linmag have given me much to think about over these last few days. None of us can read their words and not have a mental image of our own mother. I still feel the pain and the loss, but then I remember that I never had a proper talk with my dad who died 11 years ago, and the pain and the loss increase. And the regrets and the 'if only's' and the 'I wish' and all the other streams of thought which come rushing in as I see both faces in my mind's eye. My signature remains, but for me alone. It is all the more heartfelt for these two loving poems. 
"Bipolar is a roller-coaster ride without a seat belt. One day you're flying with the fireworks; for the next month you're being scraped off the trolley" I said that.
Dear Byron ~
Exactly. May at least one person in our lives have the heart for us, to write such words. I think of my mom and dad, too. My Mom is still living, and despite the loving and wonderful relationship I had with my Dad, I still suffer with the "if only"s and the "I wish I had"s. I try to apply with my Mom my lessons learned from my Dad, while I still have time. These poems bring it all full face. I'm sorry for that conversation never having took place with your Dad.
~ Elizabeth
Exactly. May at least one person in our lives have the heart for us, to write such words. I think of my mom and dad, too. My Mom is still living, and despite the loving and wonderful relationship I had with my Dad, I still suffer with the "if only"s and the "I wish I had"s. I try to apply with my Mom my lessons learned from my Dad, while I still have time. These poems bring it all full face. I'm sorry for that conversation never having took place with your Dad.
~ Elizabeth
Blinking away the tears as I write this, Pete. Your poem paints a very emotional scene honestly in its' ambiguities, and engages the reader's sympathy / empathy (floundering for the right word here) precisely because it makes no overt attempt to do so. Thank you for sharing it.
Linda
1972: Leeds, 2008: Manchester, Lyon, London O2, 2009: Wet Weybridge, 2012: Hop Farm/Wembley Arena
1972: Leeds, 2008: Manchester, Lyon, London O2, 2009: Wet Weybridge, 2012: Hop Farm/Wembley Arena
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tom.d.stiller
- Posts: 1213
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- Contact:
Dear Pete,
Your poem brings back memories of the most unpleasant months of my life. When I was sixteen I nursed my grandmother for half a year. She was sixty-nine, and she was dying of cancer, but we didn't know that, then. Her incompetent physician didn't know either. He gave her Valium instead of morphine, while her pain was more unbearable with every new day.
Finally she was hospitalized, but she didn't survive in hospital for more than a few days. The last time that I saw her, the morphine had taken away her pain, and she had begun to make plans for the future again. Twelve hours after I left, her heart failed after heavy internal bleeding.
I didn't cry at that time, the previous months had pushed me too far to be able to release my tears. The mourning was subliminal, and it fellowed me for years.
Reading your poem now released whatever remained unresolved over almost thirty years. Thank you for sharing these emotions and words.
Tom
Your poem brings back memories of the most unpleasant months of my life. When I was sixteen I nursed my grandmother for half a year. She was sixty-nine, and she was dying of cancer, but we didn't know that, then. Her incompetent physician didn't know either. He gave her Valium instead of morphine, while her pain was more unbearable with every new day.
Finally she was hospitalized, but she didn't survive in hospital for more than a few days. The last time that I saw her, the morphine had taken away her pain, and she had begun to make plans for the future again. Twelve hours after I left, her heart failed after heavy internal bleeding.
I didn't cry at that time, the previous months had pushed me too far to be able to release my tears. The mourning was subliminal, and it fellowed me for years.
Reading your poem now released whatever remained unresolved over almost thirty years. Thank you for sharing these emotions and words.
Tom
Reading the responses to both your poem, Pete, and to Linmag/Linda's poem [the most recent being Tom's], really reenforces for me how we just never know how what we share may affect another person in their own life .....as insights, affirmations, or releases. I'm glad that those who come to post their poems in this section, have the kind of relationship where they feel free to share of themselves in this way.
~ Elizabeth
~ Elizabeth
Tom,
I nearly didn't post the poem as there is a fine line between what is private and what is public but I'm pleased that it helped.
By sharing things like this it helps to confront the emotions that lay dormant.
One always thinks that events like this happen to other people but that is not always the case......different people respond in different ways.
Regards
Pete
I nearly didn't post the poem as there is a fine line between what is private and what is public but I'm pleased that it helped.
By sharing things like this it helps to confront the emotions that lay dormant.
One always thinks that events like this happen to other people but that is not always the case......different people respond in different ways.
Regards
Pete