JimT's fault

[AmBraCol]

Here's a little something from a while back.

The note below came to my inbox today. I'd seen it before but thought some of y'all might like to read it so here it is for your perusal.

And thanks to Jim Taylor for looking it up -

The poem is titled Too Soon Old and was written by Dave Griffith of Fort Worth, Texas. He wrote the poem more than 20 years ago and said he meant for it to be a simple and to the point story- from youth through old age- of his own personal life.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska , it was believed
that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Missouri .

The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . . 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . .. . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten . . . . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters . . . . . who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . . . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . . . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . . . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . . . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . . . .. shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . . . and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . . and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . . . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain.
And I'm loving and living . . . . . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . see ME!!

[JimT]

Thanks Paul.

[Twodot]

Yes, thanks Paul.
And Jim and Dave Griffith.

I'm not there yet but must be getting close.
Been down in the cellar going through a box of old photos and remembering times past.
..

[Griff]

Yes, thanks Paul.
And Jim and Dave Griffith.
I'm not there yet but must be getting close.
Been down in the cellar going through a box of old photos and remembering times past.
..

+1!

[AmBraCol]

Yes, thanks Paul.
And Jim and Dave Griffith.

I'm not there yet but must be getting close.
Been down in the cellar going through a box of old photos and remembering times past.
..

My cousin's wife asked for pictures of my Dad for an event they held this weekend. That lead me to looking through an old album and reflecting on the fact that I'm older than my Dad, or at least I've lived longer on this earth than he did. Then this evening I found a Bible my Mom gave me when I was down in Brazil helping her pack up to return to the US after 41 years of ministry there. Mom's no longer "all there", but she's in the best physical health she's had in decades. The poem made me think of her.

[J Miller]

Other than the nursing home part, I'm almost there too.


Joe

[Bill in Oregon]

I'll confess that choked me up. Seems like about everything I do these days hurts. The arthritis in my hands is getting worse. I was trying to rack the slide on my 1911 yesterday and couldn't get it to budge. Safety must be on I told myself. No, Bill, the safety is not on ...

[Walt]

Bill, hold your 1911 close to your chest, HOLD the slide with your left hand and push the frame forward with your right. It'll give you more years of shooting semi-autos.

[piller]

Soon to need electro-cautery in the valves of my leg veins. Too many years of standing in one place for 8 to 14 hours on the job.

[Bill in Oregon]

Brian, I hadn't thought of it, but of course that is an occupational hazard for pharmacists. I am amazed that you folks can concentrate for such long periods of time, under pressure, with virtually zero prescription errors.
Walt, darn if that wasn't the technique I showed to hundreds of moms/dfughters/grandmas buying PD handguns when I worked post-retirement at a Sportsman's Warehouse.

[AmBraCol]

Along a similar vein of thought:

Another Beatitude
By Elizabeth Clark

Blessed are they who understand
My faltering step and shaking hand,

Blessed, who know my ears today
Must strain to catch the things they say,

Blessed are they who seem to know
My eyes are dim and my mind is slow,

Blessed are they who looked away,
I spilled my tea on the cloth that day!

Blessed are they who, with cheery smile,
Stopped to chat for a little while,

Blessed are they who know the way
To bring back memories of yesterday,

Blessed are they who never say,
"You've told that story twice today!"

Blessed are they who make it known
That I'm loved, respected and not alone,

And blessed are they who will ease the days
Of my journey home, in loving ways.

[Bill in Oregon]

Well, phooey, Paul, now I am all emotional again. Seems to happen more often the older I get. I saw it in my late father and didn't get it.

[arclight]

Many if not most coroner's offices/morgues/medical exminer's have a sign prominently posted to remind them, "As you are now, so once was I; as I am so too will you be."

[Bill in Oregon]

Kinda summed up by the meaning of Ash Wednesday. "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."

[Walt]

I like the T-shirts for sale sometimes seen in motorcycle shops that say, "THE OLDER i GET, THE FASTER i WAS!".