Tale Weaver: #230 Eulogy

This week Michael asks us to consider the notion of Eulogy as a task to write about.

It could be our own, a friend, a parent, a child or we may like to write a story in which a eulogy features.

One thing I noticed at family funerals was that the person conducting the service didn’t really know the Departed.  The vicar at my Dad’s got his age wrong, and I was grateful that a family friend was reading one of Dad’s poems in tribute. Hubby and I printed it off with a rose at the bottom for Mum, my sister and brothers, plus Dad’s sisters and brother.
For Mum, she had already arranged the service with her favourite hymns and songs, and my sister provided some background to my Mum’s life.
Originally, Sis had wanted her eldest grand daughter to read one of my poems that was in the book Mum had kept by her bedside. The vicar suggested that as I wrote it, I should read it, and again we printed off copies for immediate family.

I guess when my time comes, I’d like to be known as the Dog Lady or a pleasant soul who cared and had time for all.
I wrote this over four years ago at the passing of the brother of a friend.
I have no idea if any of my musings were true, but the concept is that no-one really knew him, and neither did I.

I didn’t know him well.

The phone call had
Sad news to tell
But I confess
I didn’t know him well.

I saw him often across the way
He’d wave and smile and make my day.
Shy and reserved, he lived alone,
People knew him by sight, this man on his own.
Two brothers he had and sisters three,
Though he said, ‘They have no time for me’.

If he wasn’t stooped, he’d be tall and thin,
Though words were few, he’d take it all in.
At a party once I helped him pile
His plate with food chatting all the while.
He’d smile and nod in the appropriate place,
As I paused for breath, he’d watched my face.
I held his hand, led him back to his seat,
Then stayed to make sure he’d remember to eat.

He wasn’t daft, neither was he dim,
But old age and arthritis got the better of him.
He had a fall, friends found him there
Cold and afraid at the foot of the stairs.
One week on, he has passed away,
This man whose smile would brighten the day.

They said that he was seventy nine,
But I knew different, because one time
He told me he was eighty one,
And spoke of wars and years long gone.
How he missed his friends, the ones he’d lost
Defending their country at the highest cost.
The pets he’d had, both dogs and cats,
The clothes he’d worn, his outrageous hats.
His precious medal on a ribbon of silk,
Tucked away in a cupboard, along with the milk.
‘Nothing important’, he wanted no fuss,
Impressive, courageous, and humbling to us.
Time past and present, the when and the now
All rolled into one in his mindset somehow.

The phone call came,
Such sad news to tell,
But I regret
I didn’t know him well.

About pensitivity101

I am a retired number cruncher with a vivid imagination and wacky sense of humour which extends to short stories and poetry. I love to cook and am a bit of a dog whisperer as I get on better with them than people sometimes! We have an elderly dog called Maggie who adopted us as a 7 week old pup in March 2005. From 2014 to 2017 'Home' was a 41 foot narrow boat where we made strong friendships both on and off the water. We were close to nature enjoying swan and duck families for neighbours, and it was a fascinating chapter in our lives. We now reside in a small bungalow on the Lincolnshire coast where we have forged new friendships and interests.
This entry was posted in blogging, Challenge, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Tale Weaver: #230 Eulogy

  1. Sadje says:

    Such a heartfelt and poignant poem.

  2. joyroses13 says:

    A moving poem! Well done!

  3. How beautiful and heartfelt. Thanks for sharing this lovely poem.

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