The Godmother

A poem By: 
Theme: People

i.m. Judy Beckett 1928 – 2012: vet, wife, mother, grandmother, great grandmother, gardener, lover of birds, landscapes and her beloved Deerfield.

The Godmother by Lois Joy Thurstun (inspired by this poem)

Death arrives just when you expect it – and takes you by surprise.

Leaving a last letter unwritten,

a conversation that will now have to wait its turn,

a dog bringing its ball hopeful, inquisitive,

the hum of a distant lawnmower,

an aroma of newly cut grass

lingering alongside the shimmer

of a late afternoon summer sun.

I am thinking of us winding, meandering as a river,

through the ebbs and flows of our parallel lives.

I am honouring your marvellous consistency.

The way you noted all the great turns and tides

through the ritual of the written word.

The legacy you have left of loving

the way a dog will rub its nose against a favourite chair,

keeping its young mistress awake at night after running amok through stinging nettles

upon the scent of a young rabbit;

Of noticing how a bird’s belly will flit, lit from bush to bush;

how a donkey bray from the field keeps us connected down the years;

and my father in a deck chair under the apple tree, still?  Glass in hand.

Fresh flowers on a white gloss window sill.

Chintz curtains catching the breeze

and a last glimpse of you

before you go.

Greeted by all creatures great and small,

A far flung brother, a mother,

And a not so newly arrived husband,

accustomed to waiting

with an expectant spaniel by his side.