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For My Dad

For My Dad
Transparent skin on your long fingered hands
I didn’t notice before the same hands as mine and I belong
Not in slipping sands, alone, but from you, made by you
And I realise your flesh is less and veins blue are seen
Under the beauty of your frame and so I realise with tears
We are the same


Each day that I don’t see you there is a fear I won’t again
And that is too much pain for me to bear because of death
Visiting me long ago and I pushed my face against your neck
No letting go, wanting life, wanting you to never let me fall
You carried me


Your eyes still smile at me and humour from all my life is near
I make you laugh despite my fear and swallow the rising wail
Of grief untold, not yet borne, but dreaded though I steal the time
That still is left to us to share. I hold my breath and do not dare
To go far from you. I hold your hand often cold and want be told
Death is not near


I’ve known you young and middle years you never changed
Or spoke untruths. You walked and walked for search of solitude
But now I will not let you alone I will not leave you to the world
That in your head baffles you and yesterday is forever gone
If I could bear it in your stead you know my love for you understood
And I am still your little girl sat on your knee

Bournemouth Poetry Wall 2013

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For My Dad

For my Dad


Open your drawer, stars, sun and moon
Flew out, surrounding me in your world
Orion and Pleiedes flooded the room
I lay on the floor, sobbed
Books for birding, books for trees, marshes
I felt their branches, knew their leaves
Running water was music to us both
I miss you and yet you live
The birds whose song you taught to me
Your binoculars I have kept for myself
For still I seek out birds and song
A habit instilled by loving you
You live now tricked by your memories, cruel
Always the problem solver, now you depend
On medicines and love from me
Yet til now your humour stays

Published on Bournemouth Library Wall some years ago

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I am terrified…

The pain in my hip has returned. It is no longer a biting pain that come and goes when I meditate on it. It is pain that brings tears and travels down my leg. Yesterday I prepared no food. I drank the protein drink that I use to minimise carbohydrates in my diet.

When I stand, the pain is terrible and I stagger until my leg obeys my brain and then I walk awkwardly with pain at each step.

This started at the end of last week. It went away, and only niggled. On Monday, when I helped the young woman, I was not aware of it and it was not until Thursday that I felt a need to do something, by my surgery was closed. On Friday it was much better but now I am so scared.

I had my first hair appointment today. I was really worried about how I would cope. I didn’t cope well. I literally hobbled in and to the sink and back to the chair.

The mirrors make me hate myself. I get by in life by not seeing what I look like. I came away ready to crawl into a hole, except my hair looks great.

The nerves down my leg hurt most of the time. My hip at times hurts just motionless, and as I type. Part of me wants to fall so that an ambulance will come. Initiating anything medical or surgical terrifies me.

There are so many times I wish I had died when I had my brain surgeries. I hate my body. Although it was not as bad as it is now, I have never had the joy of a beautiful body. Tall, slim, and athletic. Wearing anything I wanted to.

I want my Dad. I want him to cuddle me.

In the salon, The Scientist by Coldplay came on and I feel so relieved that Mike chose to reject me. Who would want me. And yet I long to to have a hand to hold in the night.

Why is life so cruel? Oh God that I have loved and served, why is this happening to me?

Haven’t I suffered enough? Is there no end?

I am terrified and don’t want to give up my home and garden.

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For My Dad

Transparent skin on your long fingered hands I didn’t notice before the same hands as mine and I belong Not in slipping sands, alone, but from you, made by you And I realise your flesh is less and veins blue are seen Under the beauty of your frame and so I realise with tears We are the same

Each day that I don’t see you there is a fear I won’t again And that is too much pain for me to bear because of death Visiting me long ago and I pushed my face against your neck No letting go, wanting life, wanting you to never let me fall You carried me

Your eyes still smile at me and humour from all my life is near I make you laugh despite my fear and swallow the rising wail Of grief untold, not yet borne, but dreaded though I steal the time That still is left to us to share. I hold my breath and do not dare To go far from you. I hold your hand often cold and want be told Death is not near

I’ve known you young and middle years you never changed Or spoke untruths. You walked and walked for search of solitude But now I will not let you alone I will not leave you to the world That in your head baffles you and yesterday is forever gone If I could bear it in your stead you know my love for you understood And I am still your little girl sat on your knee

Chrissie Morris Brady

Published 2014

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Feeling fulfilled and other blessings…

Receiving my copies of One Hundred Memories yesterday was a completion of a long process, and I have come to know and love the editor very much. Her services to poetry are tremendous and I admire her greatly.

I read my poem a tear came to me. For no longer being a child, for all those things Dad did for us that I took for granted. For losing my Dad twice, once to Alzheimer’s and then to death. Although the Alzheimer’s helped me rediscover my Dad, as he forgot the chains my mother had wrapped around him over many years.

I am so grateful that my Dad died in my arms. My friends have found this hard. To me it was the most natural thing in the world. I cannot tell you how much I loved my Dad. He was always there for me, always calm. While my mother got hysterical and self centred, my Dad remained peaceful and strong. When my head had two openings, he never flinched, though he teared up. And while I was recovering, with akinetic mutism, he carried me.

Now that my sister has also died, it is likely that I will die alone. I do not have a partner, I have not wanted one for fifteen years when a long term relationship failed. I remember saying to someone last year that I don’t want involvement with a man, and then one crashed into my bedroom.

In all truth, it is better to be alone than to be in a relationship in which you have to pretend, lie, or not be your truly authentic self.

Never make do. I say this to all young people. Don’t settle for hamburger, when you can have steak.

Make sure you are on the same page about almost everything.

Today, a fellow blogger said I had given them inspiration. That’s humbling and reason for much gratitude. I feel such joy that they are inspiring others. That is why I stated this blog.

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One Hundred Memories

Is published by Dream Well Writing. So many thanks to Mel Wardle Woodend.

The Buzzard

Remember those late afternoon trips

to the beach? You would almost

always spot a bird of prey

hovering, watching, before diving

The day I recall is a buzzard

hanging in the sky. You pointed

and we chorused ”where? where?”

clambering around the car to see

You pointing, and still driving

Always calm, you gifted nature

to me

This anthology is in aid of the Alzheimer’s Society, on the 25th anniversary

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On Gratitude…

Today I had occasion to visit facebook, and in my notifications was a prompt to look at memories. I found this:

I am deeply grateful for my Dad. A gentle man who can mix which rich and poor and not be changed, who taught me manners and right from wrong, who has given me hours and days of laughter and hiking, who carried me when I was so near to death and wept for my suffering. A man who has stood for something all his life and taught me to stand and be counted. My Dad has my undying love and admiration. He is my only hero.
I am truly grateful for grace. Perhaps not everyone will understand. Grace has kept me strong, been a source of mercy and sustenance and will help me in the difficult times ahead. Grace has renewed me when I have reached the end of me, and made relationships endure.
I am grateful for my daughter Lara who is an amazing person. She is to me like a fragrance, refreshing and attractive in essence as well as looks. She has so many talents, is well loved by many and will go on to many more wonderful things. I feel such a feeling as her abilities far exceed my own in so many talents of sport, dance, charisma, hiking, leadership, choreography and pure presence. She has achieved more in her 16 years than some bother to try in a lifetime, despite some difficult circumstances that were beyond our control and my declining health. It’s a privilege to know her, let alone to be her mother.

This is still true today. My Dad is my plumb line in almost everything I do, the one difference is that he was in the S.A.S and I belong to CND and lots of other anti-weapon and anti-war movements. I’m so grateful he was my Dad.

Last night I had the most deep and recooperating sleep. I was dreadfully tired Wednesday and slept from 5:30pm to 8:30pm. Then I had difficulty getting to sleep later and did not sleep until after 8am.

Yesterday I got a second wind and popped out while the sun was shining. I ate good dinner and then scoffed a pack of brioche rolls. I went to bed at 9.30 and woke at just around 8am this morning. I felt great, and as the only appointment I had today was not until after lunch, I went back to sleep for a while.

My medicine always makes me very thirsty, so I keep two glasses of mango and apple cordial beside my bed, and as I work from my bedroom it keeps my thirst slaked all day.