The Greatest Generation

Before my daughters were born, I worked in nursing homes doing activities.  Those years made a better person out of me.  No - the residents I worked for made a better person out me.  I heard their amazing stories and saw how hard they worked and how much they sacrificed to provide a better future for the next generations.  I kept a journal of some of the conversations and exchanges we had over those years and kept photos so that I would not forget their faces/names.  Some are forever etched into my heart and no photos are even necessary.  Like Russell Miller - who is still one of my best friends (I love you and miss you) and Dillie Dixon (my fiery friend who shared in my thirst for mischief), Charlie Stoneburner (I still have the ornament - always will) and Agnes Schwartz who lived to be 104, but it wasn't long enough for me).  I have the utmost respect for every one of them and they all taught me so much about life, love and even death.  I strive for a fraction of their character and heart.  This poem is a little bit of all of them - it is all true of one or more of them and they were true legends of their time.

Mr. John Doe's Room

It’s just a meager taxi ride

From your home sweet home

Where extraordinary people live

Yet spend their days alone

And if you were to wander in

On some fine afternoon

I’d urge you to come take a look

At Mr. John Doe’s Room

And you will find an old, frail frame

That once stood “ten feet tall”

Whose legs became a wheelchair

Just after that last fall

But look beyond the telling lines

That lead to humbled eyes

And you may see a different man,

A Hero in disguise

Look closely at the pictures

Of his all-adoring kids

Their faces singing praises for

What kind of dad he is

And please don’t miss the stunning quilt

That warms his standard bed

The one his dear wife made with love

Just after they were wed

The quilt alone will tell you

Of her diligence and care

But speak, it won’t, of all the trials

And hurts they’ve had to bear

Like going without food for days

So that their kids could eat

In the days of the Depression

When life was bittersweet

And the time she lost the baby

After two hard days of labor

And nearly lost her own life

Had the Lord not chose to save her

He’s watched those tender, loving hands

Grow weary with disease

And as he once proposed to her

He said “Good-bye” upon his knees

And over in the corner

There’s a shoe-box filled with stars

That he had earned in Normandy

Along with battle scars

And that’s not all – there’s so much more

That you will never see

Unless you look with brand new eyes

At each biography

So let each face that your eyes scan

Be as a precious flower

Whose beauty far exceeds your own

When in its latest hour

And as you leave this “Garden”

Of wisdom in full bloom

You’ll find a living Legend

In every John Doe’s room