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