Purple Hearts: Poem for my Mother
Purple Hearts: Poem for my mother I found this poem in amongst a book of papers my mum had put together. I wrote it many years ago, and sent it to her, along with a few others, in a letter typed on my IBM Selectric typewriter (anyone remember the "golf ball" typewriter?) Mum kept all my letters, and recently took to sticking them, together with other sundry papers that were important to her, into a book. She wanted to ensure all her affairs were in order before the end. She died yesterday, at home, in her bed. It was just the two of us in the room, and I was talking to her all the while, and stroking her hair. This last Monday, barely able to talk, she had insisted my brother phone me so that she could tell me, again, that the day I was born was one of the very happiest of her life. Considerate to the end, she waited so I could be with her, on a Saturday morning, with the sun shining and the birds singing, to slip away Reading this poem again, which