Dernier acte… Friday, Mar 23 2012 

Dernier acte… © 2006. par Michel A. Di Iorio

J’entre sans faire de bruit pour ne pas l’arracher
au repos laborieux, difficilement gagné.
Il n’entre-ouvre pas l‘œil, bien qu’il sache que j’y suis;
quoiqu’il semble dormir, il demeure éveillé.

Je m’approche de sa couche et j’observe le visage
du guerrier fatigué, qui ne demande qu’à dormir.
Je dénombre ses rides comme des grandes cicatrices;
les décombres d’un combat qui le fait tant souffrir!

Je caresse les vestiges d’une chevelure orgueilleuse,
disparue au profit d’un traitement malicieux.
Il ne réagit pas, préférant ne rien dire;
tolérant mon toucher tendre et affectueux.

Je chuchote tout bas, pour ne pas l’effrayer,
et je demande s’il va mieux, pressentant le contraire.
L’émotion me bâillonne comme une boule dans la gorge;
refoulant, comme une vague, toutes mes larmes d’hier.

Je lui tiens une main frêle, autrefois bien solide,
arborant meurtrissures et douleurs inaudibles,
et je revis toutes les fois où je me suis réveillé
d’un faux pas, pour le voir assis là, invincible !

Je l’embrasse sur le front pour lui dire que je l’aime,
espérant qu’il comprenne que je n’ai pas oublié.
Il demeure immobile, ne sachant que répondre;
quant à moi, je me rhabille, car je dois m’en aller.

Je lui laisse un moment seul à seules avec celles
qui partagent ses hiers et qui vivent son déclin.
Je me dirige vers ma propre solitude comme un grand,
et je pleure les souffrances de mon père, en gamin !

Dernier acte… © 2006, par Michel A. Di Iorio


Mary Theresa Quine Friday, Mar 23 2012 

Mary Theresa Quine (1927 – 2009)

by Michel A. Di Iorio, on Thursday, November 12, 2009
She was a grand old doll, she was; with a whip for a tongue and an Irish temper to fuel the lash… but the heart of gold that beat deep down in her chest was bigger that her frail little body could hold. She loved me like nobody since; shaping the very heart of my soul. She was more than mortal man could handle; as entranced, she weaved her body ’round her Maypole.

Her Maypole dance led to love and a life that gave rise to a son. She taught me compassion, persistence and truth; the value of friendship, the cost of abuse. She was a lady, a queen and a saint; she was the fabled Maypole dancer… nay I say, she was my mother!

The reaper called before she awoke. She waited for the sun’s rays to creep through the window dress to loosen her grasp on what held her back. When no one looked, she breathed in her last; letting go of the present by chucking the past. Like a candle, she flickered a final goodbye, expiring sans whimper!

Her final known thoughts enveloped her family with warmth and love.

Rest now, Mother… I’ll be your gatekeeper!

Your loving son, Michel ;-(xxx

She slipped a copy of the following text into my hand during a particularly dramatic episode of my life. Though it is weathered and old, its wisdom is unquestionable, and helped shape the soul I’ve come to be. It is fitting that she should now be remembered by its words:

DON’T QUIT (Anonymous)

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
when the road that you’re trudging seems all uphill,
when the funds are low, and the debts are high,
and you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
when care is pressing you down a bit –
rest if you must, but don’t you quit!

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
as every one of us sometimes learns,
and many a failure turns about,
when he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don’t give up though the pace seems slow –
you may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than
it seems to a faint and faltering man;
often the struggler has given up
when he might have captured the victor’s cup;
and he learned too late when the night slipped down,
how close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out –
the silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
and you never can tell how close you are,
it may be near when it seems afar;
so stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit –
it’s when things seem worst that you musn’t quit!

Thank you for the precious lesson, Mom! ;-)xxx

She was a grand old doll, she was…

Mary Theresa Quine (1927 – 2009)
Rest now, Mother… I’ll be your gatekeeper!

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