Oh Danny Boy, The Pipes, The Pipes are calling
My Father use to sing that song to me. There was a saddness in his eyes and I often wondered who was he thinking of while he sang. He never shared much of his past life with me. There was much never said between us. I loved him and even though he never used those words to show me his love for me, I knew he did indeed love me.
We both watched my Mother's life slip from her. The cancer in her body spread rapidly never giving her a chance to fight. I was only 16 when she was gone and my Father was left to raise me. He was hardly ever sober after her passing. He never did sing to me anymore. The pain and sorrow in his eyes spoke volumes. He never admited to me how much he missed her. Sometimes I would catch him staring at a picture of her and I could see the tears forming in his eyes. He use to tell me that crying showed weakness. I was often scolded and punished for crying. However at Mother's funderal, I cried long and hard. Years of pent up sorrow came flooding out.
I watched my Father drink himself to death. It was like, he had no reason to live when Mom was gone. She was the joy in both of our lives. No matter how hard times would get, she could make us smile. Our joy in this world was gone and my Father lost his will to live.
Today I stood before their graves. Once again they were side by side of each other. This was where they belonged. Now it is my turn to live and perhaps someday find joy again. A couple of years ago I began experiencing some very unusual changes. My Father ignored my concerns.
Alas he was too burdened to notice me. Notice the young woman I was becoming.
I left a bundle of clover at their place of rest. It was a time to go forward and not look back. It was time for me to return to my roots and find some faith. Was there a purpose for my exisitance? Can I ever be a aprt of something larger then me? Or am I to be lost in this busy world alone without love or joy?
Lighting a candle before the alter at my parents parish I gave a simple prayer. I prayed to Our Holy Mother seeking some hope, some guidance. I prayed to learn how to cry.
We both watched my Mother's life slip from her. The cancer in her body spread rapidly never giving her a chance to fight. I was only 16 when she was gone and my Father was left to raise me. He was hardly ever sober after her passing. He never did sing to me anymore. The pain and sorrow in his eyes spoke volumes. He never admited to me how much he missed her. Sometimes I would catch him staring at a picture of her and I could see the tears forming in his eyes. He use to tell me that crying showed weakness. I was often scolded and punished for crying. However at Mother's funderal, I cried long and hard. Years of pent up sorrow came flooding out.
I watched my Father drink himself to death. It was like, he had no reason to live when Mom was gone. She was the joy in both of our lives. No matter how hard times would get, she could make us smile. Our joy in this world was gone and my Father lost his will to live.
Today I stood before their graves. Once again they were side by side of each other. This was where they belonged. Now it is my turn to live and perhaps someday find joy again. A couple of years ago I began experiencing some very unusual changes. My Father ignored my concerns.
Alas he was too burdened to notice me. Notice the young woman I was becoming.
I left a bundle of clover at their place of rest. It was a time to go forward and not look back. It was time for me to return to my roots and find some faith. Was there a purpose for my exisitance? Can I ever be a aprt of something larger then me? Or am I to be lost in this busy world alone without love or joy?
Lighting a candle before the alter at my parents parish I gave a simple prayer. I prayed to Our Holy Mother seeking some hope, some guidance. I prayed to learn how to cry.