
April Fool’s Girl
This was supposed to be an April fools day post, but my day and night got twisted so I missed my chance. But I really want to share this poem, so here it is.

April Fool’s Day of 1920, her life began
A soul cast in whimsy, a spirit’s dance
Yet in the heat of August 2019, a silent morn,
She passed away, all alone
Her ungrateful older sons lay
Their hearts held firm in icy sway
Unseen, unheard, they sought to part
In stoic grief, without a start
But midst their silent, weighty shroud
The youngest son emerged, in whispers loud
To honor her, in tender light
He fought, he wept, against the night
In tearful eyes and softened grace
He bid her soul a last embrace
To ease the ache, to bloom anew
And mend the hearts, with love so true
Amidst the sorrow and the pain
The youngest son’s love glows, a gentle rain
To soothe her passage, he fought all dares
And soften April Girl’s muted tears
The poem was based on a true story. The youngest son is my Norwegian husband. My mother-in-law was one of the sweetest women I knew. I loved her like a mother, and I know, having only sons, she loved me like a daughter. She always introduced me as “my daughter” to people, earning some puzzled looks and held back questions on people’s faces. I was so much darker compared to her creamy white skin, but we never bothered explaining and loved how some seemed to scratch their heads. She suffered with dementia in the last decades of her life, but even when she forgot everyone, she never forgot me, my husband, and later my son, whom we found out from her younger friend (who attended the funeral) that she spoke about nonstop my son. Losing her left a strange hole in our lives, but I hope she’s having a great time wherever she may be now.
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4 Comments
Winnie
A beautiful tribute, Jess ❤️
AA1C
Good post.I subscribed. Have a happy day🍀☘️⭐️💝
Dracul Van Helsing
What a beautiful and wonderful poem, Jessie.
I thought while reading it that it must be based on a true story.
And it turns out that it was.
Lightness Traveling
Very beautiful. When I first moved here after returning to the US, about 20-years back, my first local, and best friend was a woman from the Philippines. Her mom lived not too far away (with her sister’s family), and I got to know her quite well. I always called her “Mom”, because she treated me like a daughter. It’s something that goes beyond mere inherited traits; and I too felt that “strange hole” in the loss of caring family when she passed.