Dorothy

(Lauren, I doubt there have been more than a half dozen people who have ever read this poem since it was written over four years ago.  I wrote it after attending the high school football game between Powell and Fulton, the former of which is my alma mater, the latter, of course, is my father's.  I do not know what finally led me to write this, but I can say that Dorothy must have been a wonderful person from all accounts I have heard, not the least of which stemming from Dad.  As I recall being told, her birthday is March 12, the day before my mother's, and she was born in 1918.  She would be 95 years old if she were alive today.  She passed away from breast cancer sometime in January in 1968, just months after my dad's 16th birthday.  It is so unfortunate to think that if she had contracted that today, it would have been treated successfully in all likelihood. I do know, according to Dad, that the doctors used radiation therapy; there apparently were no chemotherapy treatments during the 1960's or, possibly, it was not commonly used due to its rudimentary origins.  

Dorothy was a musician as I was in my youth.  She used to play the piano on the local radio.  She had the innate ability to not only read music, but to also "play by ear," and not coincidentally, so did I.  She, like so many of my family members in the past, suffered from mental illness.  Her illness, bipolar disorder, was the same as that from which I suffer.  There were other relatives in past generations who suffered greatly, and as time goes along, I will share with you those details.  Virtually everyone of my grandmother's generation, as well as my great-grandmother and her youngest brother, suffered severe forms of mental illness as I have for the past 13 years.  It is a cruel series of diseases, but I would not trade all the experiences I have had with them for the world because I would not be as strong of a person today without them.)

Dorothy                  August 29, 2009

I wish I knew what to think of you,

I wish I knew what you would have said.

I wish about you I could have a clue,

That I could have known you before you were dead.

So many things, so many visions,

So many pictures, how can I not be aware?

Wish I knew what to say,

Oh Dorothy, sweet lady of yesterday.

There was a time you played piano,

A duet through the sands, with me on trombone.

You suffered as I from severe oceanic tides;

They have pounded us, but we both refused to die.

You were a link in the chain that led to me.

If not for you, Daddy would not be.

Oh Dorothy, you'll never know,

How much the unknown future could love you so.

Lord, Dorothy, how I've listened to tales of you told,

Alas, life was cruel and you never grew old.

Oh Dorothy, you will never know

The path Daddy follows as he sails towards the sun.

Oh Dorothy, you would be so proud

Of my sister Laura and how she has wowed,

And you would have loved sweet Mother, too.

Dorothy, it's just a shame that we never knew you.

And as if by divine right

We should meet at the end of my living days' night,

I should want to know you very much,

For a piece of my soul left before I could touch.

Oh Dorothy, you could not possibly know

How life is a mystery and yet I'm fully grown,

How I yearn for the time I could relate with you.

Oh Dorothy, I think I would have loved you so.