"Daddy," a poem by Margaret C. Rigsby

**Sixty years as husband and wife.**

Daddy

Children's eyes; mine,

danced with happiness

when Daddy

came home from work.

Always a surprise,

a pack of gum, a water gun,

sometimes when times where

especially lean

just a stick of gum. I would run

to the door and Daddy would pick me up

while I rambled through his

shirt pocket looking for the gum or candy

I knew would be there.

He was the most handsome and

tallest man in the world

from my small vantage point.

Invariably he would do the ‘whisker rub’

on my tender young face. That was

Daddy's way of showing affection

and I liked it even if it did hurt a little.

Decades have passed

our roles have reversed.

I watch him age,

grow more feeble each day

just as he watched me grow from his

little girl to his grown-up daughter

with children of her own.

When I go to see him, sometimes I

bring him a surprise. Amazed I watch

his aging green eyes: How child-like and eager

they are with the same anticipation

that my young green eyes had

as they spot the chocolate bar,

card or anything I bring him.

To him I know I am the most beautiful

and kindest daughter in his world.

I hug him more these days because I realize

that his time is short in this world. Sometimes

he still tries to ‘whisker’ me,

it still hurts a little but I like it.

I will never forget your eyes

or your love and

in my own aging world

you are still the most handsome

and tallest man I know.

by Margaret C. Rigsby

On June 4th 1999 Mamma and Daddy celebrated 60 years of marriage together. I cannot imagine living with someone that long. I just know that it was a blessing. Of course at the time we had no way of knowing that they would only have two more together.
My Daddy was 86 in January of 2002. Daddy suffered with Parkingson's Disease for longer than most people make it, well over ten years. This is a disorder of the brain, yet another reason for brain research. Most of the medications for Parkingson's and Alzheimers were discovered during the beginning of the 'Decade of the Brain' in the 1990's and many through research for Mental Illness.

It has been very hard to watch someone who was the man I described above shrivel up and become dependent upon those who once depended upon him.

11/26/02 - Over the last five days my Daddy endured a mini stroke, hospitalization, congestive heart failure, pneumonia, the inability to swallow which is the end stages of Parkingson's. He could understand, but not be understood most of the time. He was drowning in his own fluid, he had to have a feeding tube...he fought it all. He just wanted to go home. Yesterday, I think he knew it was time because he became very upset after the social care people talked about options after he left the hospital.
Daddy did not want to live in a nursing home or with a feeding tube in his stomach and was humiliated by having been dressed in a diaper.

So my Daddy went home early this morning about 2:30. The five us us did not make it in time, but he did not die alone and he did not suffer which was always in my prayers.

I am not exactly sure how Heaven works, but I know he is there and I hope rejoined with my Mama whom he missed so much.

I don't know how my life will be with out my hero anymore. The house I grew up in is empty. I cannot express my sadness. I look at a snapshot sitting on top of my monitor taken last Christmas of Daddy and me. That's the way I want to remember him. He was always happiest when he could see his kids, grand kids and great-grand kids. He was half Cherokee, left motherless at a very young age, lived through the great depression and was the nurturer of the family. He truly was the 'wind beneath my wings.'

The poem below was written for one of Daddy's birthdays:

My heart beats safely by Margaret C. Rigsby As your little girl my hand you held. Your teenager, my hand you let go... Your daughter, a wife, a mother, I gave you two more little hands to hold. Perhaps you did not know you have always held my heart in your hands where it beats safely in your Father's love.

(The above poem was previously published in Panda Poetry, a UK publication.)

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Thank you, Margaret

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