Ubi Sunt

Hello beloved friends and fellow Bloggers,

Please forgive my recent neglect.  I’ve had a very busy week and must return shortly to court.  I’ve missed keeping up with your lovely posts but resolve to be back at it soon.

While I have time, I’m responding, in my own rebellious way, to a recent “3 Days, 3 Quote” challenge and sharing a story, in the form of a poem, about my morning.  Thank you very much to Emily at A Writer’s Beginning for the challenge.  I urge y’all to visit Emily’s wonderful blog.

My quote today comes from a Lumineers song, “Stubborn Love” from their self-titled debut album.  The poem following it should serve to explain why I chose to quote from a band instead of an author and contains snippets of 2 additional songs of theirs.  Like I said, in my own rebellious way.

“She’ll tear a hole in you, the one you can’t repair
But I still love her, I don’t really care.”

I hope you enjoy my poem.  Whether you do or don’t, please let me know what you think.  Parents, you may want to reach for a facial tissue before you read.  I promise I’ll be checking your blogs and exchanging comments with y’all again soon.

12 Gone, 6 Left

This morning was bright and clear
as I drove my daughter to school
like I do most weekday mornings,
in fact, and traffic was light
for once.

We sang together along with the songs
on my Lumineers CDs, my eyes sneaking
peeks, in the rearview mirror, of course,
at my lovely girl every few moments.

“Won’t you stay” we sang, and my heart
clenched, throat tightened, tiny tears leaked
as I realized, for at least the 4,517th time,
she’ll be gone away from home too soon.

“Home at last” we sang, as she testified
“”Angela” and “Flowers In Your Hair”
are my favorite songs!”  And I thought
Every damn song you sing, girl, is mine.

I can’t even write this poem without crying.
If ever you catch me saying I’ll be happy
when she’s gone, or words to that effect,
you’ll have caught me lying.

via Daily Prompt: Infect

30 thoughts on “Ubi Sunt

  1. awww, I remember my dad tearing up when I left home. I’ve never seen him cry before. It broke my heart. Now he cries every time we reunite and every time we say goodbye. His tears just squeeze my heart.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I was 20 when my dad died. I was 15 when the MS started to seriously mess with his abilities, slowly stealing my dad away from me. When I see photos of you and your daughter, forgive me but I see me and my dad in a life we didn’t get to share. I am sure your daughter gets how special you are partly just because you’re her dad and partly from the mystic father/daughter love you bear each other. I love your poem.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you very much, Martha, for your kind words and sharing that part of your story with me. I’m sad for you that your father/daughter story was so tragically curtailed, and I’m sorry if such posts cause you pain. I’m reasonably well-assured that The Girl knows how special what we have is!

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Your posts don’t cause me pain. Don’t worry. I was LUCKY in the father I had, even if I would like to have had him around longer. It’s like reading about young people climbing or running trails. I can’t but they ARE and that makes me so happy. It’s the same with you and your daughter. I don’t know you, but I know the bond and that you share it makes me happy.

        Here you can read about my dad if you wish. It’s an old blog post from when they kind of gave us “assignments.” This was to the ONE reader you wish you could write to/for.


        Liked by 2 people

  3. You have no idea how heart warming it is to hear a dad say that! And know he means it with every fibre of his being. She’ll remember that, and love you forever. Proud to know you! 🙂 To know you care and that real men can cry tears of joy.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. I really appreciate your emotional honesty. All I can think of to say is something you already know. Everything changes in life and there’s a great joy to be found in that. For me, making sure to say something about what they mean to me when we say goodbye, however foolish those words may sound, helps me to move on more smoothly and helps the sadness to move through more quickly.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Yep, I needed tissues reading this. Yep, there will come that day when you’ll say goodbye (for now). Yep, you’ll need tissues. And, you’ll be so proud of who she is becoming, and you’ll smile with joy. Very touching post, Denny, she’s one lucky girl to have such an awesome dad like you!! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  6. I’m not sure I can relate, because my father died many years ago and he lived in the different city also, so I met him only in the summer (on vacation, at least after 7yo)…but I guess my mum had similar kind of feelings when I’ve moved to Sweden. At least so she told..

    Liked by 1 person

      1. It is not easy letting go. You carry these individuals for 9 months inside your body, nurture and care for them while they grow, try to raise them as best you can with values and morals. You watch them go from goos and gagas to speaking in full sentences and finally having minds of their own. Ultimately, it comes down to trusting your ability as a parent. Knowing you did all you could. Think of it as a mother bird teaching her young to fly, the mother bird pushes her young out of the nest and has faith and trust in her young that they will spread their wings. You have to respect the adultness (if you will) of your child. Know they will make mistakes and that is how they learn. Don’t try to fix it for them after a certain age. Let them take the wheel and learn. Just be there for them without offering unwanted advice. Most children when they become adults just want approval and acceptance. Most of all, give praise! Lots and lots of praise. If you can do all of this, your children will carry on a loving, connected relationship with you and want you in their life no matter how far they stray from home.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. You are very welcome Denny. It is something we parents have to remind ourselves to do. Almost like force feeding your children brustle sprouts. We have to force feed ourselves mindfulness. Tell ourselves it is okay to let go and let them children fly. I wrap myself in my writing now that I have more free time without young kids to occupy my time. I find hobbies to consume certain days. If I have not heard from my son in a while, I send a message or call him. It is a slow process, but when you see the end result of your child conquering life and becoming a productive member of society, you beam with pride. My daughter being 16 still has a few years. I imagine it will be harder once I have a completely empty nest.

        Liked by 1 person

  7. No need to apologize for being absent. I was gone three quarters of a year before I started my blog back up. Excellent poem, by the way. I cannot relate to it much, but the writing was fantastic. Cheers!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s