If you've read my front page, you'll know that I have two daughters and a son, plus five beautiful grandchildren. One of my grandchildren recently came to me for help, which I willingly gave her. As a result, I've lost my two daughters, which has devastated me. I decided to give vent to my hurt by writing a poem:
NOBODY KNOCKS ON SUNDAY
Granddaughter came crying. Help from me she sought.
She wanted a life but her pathway was fraught.
I gave her protection, believed what she said.
My daughters now treat me as if I were dead.
I’m busy in life, and I have lots of friends.
When they are around, then my hurt almost mends.
They drop in for coffee, or come here to stay.
But nobody knocks on a quiet Sunday.
Granddaughter has flown to a faraway land.
She now has a life. On her own she can stand.
She’s met lots of friends and has days full of joy.
She feels like a child with a new Christmas toy.
Her world is wide open. All choices are hers.
She acts like an adult whatever occurs.
I’ll visit her soon, but meanwhile I must say,
It’s lonely when nobody knocks on Sunday.
I sit and remember the joys of the past,
Exciting and happy that went by so fast.
New love and new life on the days of their birth,
Christmases, birthdays and days full of mirth.
I know that my parenting skills were not good.
The result of my childhood, but I did what I could.
The mistakes were abundant and now I must pay.
They don’t ever knock on my door on Sunday.
But whatever I’ve done, and whatever went wrong,
Whenever my days feel so empty and long,
There’s one thing I know that I did very right.
I helped my granddaughter find life full of light.
That’s one thing I’ll never regret come what may.
Even though nobody knocks on Sunday.