Wednesday, 18 September 2013

Envious eyes followed her,
taking in her hair, with the sheen of
a raven's wing.

Admiring eyes followed her,
taking in the hour glass figure.

Young girls looked at her,
drinking in the glamour,
thinking all the while
that's how I will be when I grow up.

It is so hard for me now to look back and see the mother that Doris was.  To me she was just Mum.  An icon, a special lady, a woman out of her time; a troubled soul.  A saint... No.  Saintly... Yes.  She was the last child of a family with three sons, a much wanted daughter.  By the time she was conceived the genes were running on empty.  The runt of the litter, physically beautiful, physiologically flawed.  As a young girl, she nearly died from Scarlet Fever.  She had a hollow in her back where they drained her lungs of the pleurisy that threatened to drown her.  Never well; beauty shone through the ravages of a body not blessed with strength.


  1. I look forward to reading many more posts about your mother Linda. I found this extremely poignant. It is extremely hard to accept what I suppose is just life, and all that it holds for us. Jayne xx

  2. Linda, echoing Jayne, just to let you know that we are with you for this journey x