To Dorth
At nineteen,
we walked hand-in-hand to an uncertain future that was about to be.
It was the last time that I'd pass that candy store,
and I cried terribly that day.
At twenty-nine,
I smiled as I walked from the car. I waved and said, "I'll be okay."
After the hugs, and kisses, handshakes, and reminders,
It was the time that college began,
and I waved to your babies that day.
At thirty-nine,
you decorated the maple tree with yellow ribbons for me.
The Navy was my life and I said goodbye yet again,
and I held back tears as I boarded that plane.
At forty-nine,
I couldn't recall that ten years had passed, my life was moving very fast.
You saw your children married and start their lives,
and between the moments we cried.
At fifty-nine,
My wife and I came to visit, brought you "Fluff" and later we sent a train
that you said that you once had had. It had a special story
and I cried just knowing what it meant to you.
At sixty-nine,
we all had gathered, enjoyed a meal and shared some drinks
because we had come from the graveyard where we had laid you to rest.
I cry every time I think of that day, because in every conceivable way,
you were my mom.
- Steve Scheider, September 2020
Sorry that I didn't come up with this sooner, Dorth.
