Waiting with Grandpa Dan

I Sit Here and Wait

Seems like I do this a lot,
Sitting, waiting, remembering days of long ago,
Knowing that my time is nearly over,
Hoping that the end will be fast.

Time to remember the good days,
Days when the family was together.
My beautiful wife was happy,
Past her childhood of questions.

“Who is my father?” she asked many times.
“What did he look like? Who will tell me?
Other kids with ma and pa, while I have only ma.
Granny and grandpa were kind, but never answered.”

Even after we married, she always searched.
Searched for an answer that never came.
Even after we had our kids, four of them,
Before that awful night when came our fifth.

Childbirth is hard, a thing I never knew.
Except the pain I felt when she died.
We named the baby “Margaret” after her,
But at that moment I knew baby must leave.

A family would take her in, I knew.
A farmer can’t handle 5 kids by himself,
The oldest was 12, a child herself.
But that was all in the past and life must go on.

Now I just sit here with hands folded over. 
Waiting, waiting. And waiting.

They say that I still have a brogue,
An accent gift from my dad and ma.
But brogue or not, my words cannot say,
What my thoughts are telling me to say.

Where am I going? Where am I?
I’m dressed like I was at my wedding day,
But can’t recall today. My thoughts drift.
Maybe to a dinner? Or a funeral?

Yes, a funeral for a friend, a farmer himself.
That will be me someday soon.
A day I look forward to seeing my Dutch Maggie,
Where she knows and tells me about her father.

Dear Maggie, the most beautiful of women,
Maggie, who skated the frozen ditches,
With long, graceful, strides that stretched for a mile,
Smiling, red cheeked, and happy eyes gleaming.

But soon I must go, picked up by my sons.
They have been faithful and loyal,
Looking after me, riding in their cars.
Truest of sons. On my way to a funeral.