Recently I was going through a folder I’ve held onto over the years, which has some of the poems I wrote the old-fashioned way, with a piece of paper and a pencil or pen, along with some similar keepsakes. Among the other pieces in the collection, my mother is a major contributor. She has always had a great way of giving things that feel special enough to make me want to keep them forever.
Flipping through that folder, looking for something to share with Mom when we visited in January to celebrate her retirement, I found a handwritten poem that’s not mine. At the bottom, the writer signed the piece “Terrapin Ridge,” which is that lovely area in Illinois everyone in my mother’s family remembers as being “home” for a very long, short period of history. I sent this poem, entitled “The Joy of Words: Who Lives Alone?” to Mom, with a query… she replied to say she had not seen it before, and felt surely it was her father’s handwriting. How did I come to have this? While I’m very sorry to say that I don’t have a clear answer, the poem is very special to me, as another of my Grandpa Urban’s gifts that, like the many I’ve received from his daughter, I just want to cherish and keep forever.
Mar. 13 Update: We live and learn, and I beg forgiveness: Brother Scott informs me that “Who Lives Alone?” is the work of gifted poet Grace E. Easley. Though I wish the poem below was my grandfather’s creation, I do know it was very important to him and others in our family, and feel his presence in the poignant sentiments. Spirituality, poetry and written words were medicine for Grandpa, and through many of us, his passions live on. Thank you for your interest, and I hope you’ll be encouraged to explore more work by the talented Ms. Easley.
