Buddies

Buddies
(written by my father)

Morning
I awaken to the sound of
a friendly voice
not so far away
soon followed
by the National Anthem
nice beginning but
must do
those morning things
shaving
washing hair
that are always at least
mildly aggravating
but oh so necessary
if I am to face the day
with confidence
Yes quickly!
I hear little
footsteps
and a little voice
says
Daddy I can't sleep anymore
Buddies!
downstairs
we find
breakfast
nothing fancy
cereal
toast
perhaps a glass of
juice
or if it's Sunday
we might be the earliest
to arrive
at Hojo's
then a walk
in the new sunlight
a deep drink of
fresh air
the sweet song of
a cardinal
perched high
in a nearby tree
she goes her way
and I go mine
but only for awhile
soon we'll be together
again
it's great to be
Buddies

That is a poem that my father wrote about us oh-so-many years ago. I don't think I had my own copy until I was 19 years old, studying abroad in Mexico my sophomore year in college. My dad periodically sent me care packages of newspaper clippings from the States, letters about the goings-on in his day-to-day life, and some copies of poems he had written over the years--all reading material he thought I'd find interesting and a remedy to any homesickness I may have been feeling.

In any case, it has been years since I read the poem, but because my husband and I have our house up for sale, we have been cleaning and organizing like mad. And I came across this poem. And I cried when I read it. Then I cried as I was typing it into this blog. But the tears have nothing to do with the fact that my father and I are no longer "buddies." Unfortunately, he suffers from mental illness which makes it impossible for us to communicate in any "normal" sort of way or to have any resemblance of a normal father-daughter relationship. But that is life. People get sick, sad things happen. The sadness and frustration from the situation has numbed over the years. I hold on to many fond memories that I am lucky to have. ANYWAY...Nope. That's not why I'm so weepy. And it's not because I'm pregnant again and my hormones are raging all over the place, either.

I'm weepy out of sheer joy. Because when I read that poem I think of my husband and our son. They are buddies. And it is so dang heartwarming. In the morning when Mike has to do his "mildly aggravating" routine, there Drew is peeping into the shower, hoping to get a little laugh and a splash from Daddy. Or a little "pssht" of deodorant. Or a dollop of shaving cream on the nose that results in a joyous giggle. There they are...MY buddies.