Always Look for the Bright Side…
We had quite a re-union for my eighty-fifth birthday. All my children were there with their respective husbands, wives, and descendants. Late that night, with the younger ones tucked in bed, we oldies reminisced. Because of the life I’ve led, they know I’ve had some rough experiences, and they love to hear me tell of the real world that lays beneath the thin veil of ‘civilised respectability.’
Unexpectedly, my youngest child – he’s only thirty-three, bless him – asked, “What do you think is your very happiest memory, Dad?”
There are so many. Where to start! Our wedding day? Seeing our first child born? The day my wife said ‘yes’? Our Golden Wedding anniversary? Seeing our first grandchild? - Great-grandchild? - Great great grandchild? So many more occasions also spring to mind. Vividly I recall inspiring moments from my youth, (which I note elsewhere in my biography). Yet – on reflection – my happiest memory is one that many would consider a most tragic one. It was a moment shared with my daughter over fifty years ago – one I share annually with her…
I’d returned from a couple of stressful jaunts which included blowjobs (taking of life). Wifey was heavily pregnant. Packing the children off to our place in Florida, Wifey and I left our Lake Tahoe home for another we own out in the boonies, alongside the Snake River in Idaho - seeking peace, quiet, and to be alone together.
Being very isolated, and the birth imminent, I’d hired a helicopter to be on standby to collect the nearest physician and midwife, and ferry them in at a moment’s notice. When the time came, I radioed the pilot to be ready, and for him to contact nurse and doctor as arranged. Though it was only a fifteen miles journey, it was five hours before they arrived. Meanwhile, wifey was having problems, and was distressed.
Leaving her a moment, I hastened to greet the arrivals and directed the midwife to the bedside. The doctor was quite drunk: He’d been celebrating at his golf club. All earlier efforts to sober him had failed. I did try to instil some sense of urgency into him, without
avail. When he vomited all over myself and the carpet, I became resigned to the inevitable. Leaving him in the care of the pilot, I did a quick sluice job on clothing and self, and hastened to my wife’s side.
The room was unnaturally silent. Wifey lay pale and dazed. Midwife – tearful held our daughter to her bosom lovingly. As I kissed my wife, the nurse placed our child tenderly in the bedside crib. When Diana grasped my hand and pleaded, “Don’t kill him Frankie.” I knew she was aware of the doctor’s problem, and fearful of my reaction. Kissing her, I leaned to view our child.
The nurse quietly explained she’d done all she could, but Diana’s safety took priority. Reassuringly, I suggested she go get a cup of tea. Lying alongside Diana in silence, anger - an emotion alien to me since childhood - welled up inside me such as I’d never experienced. Minutes passed. I was aware that blessed nature had overtaken Wifey: Relaxed in my arms she was sound asleep. Gently disentangling myself, I tended Diana Marie.
Never had I gazed on such perfect beauty. A mass of moist, jet black hair, lying in untidy ringlets framed her peaceful countenance. Loathe to disturb such serenity, I touched two fingers to my lips, then placed them for a brief moment on hers. Gently lifting the crib, I carried her into the adjoining room.
Silently, I imbibed the beauty and tranquillity radiating invisibly from the wondrous vision before me. In one long moment all anger left me: With it went the huge chip I’d carried against society ever since I’d been wrongly convicted of a crime I’d never committed.
As I gazed on her, and we shared that moment together, a new understanding of tolerance filled my unburdened breast. From that moment, I’ve known that no matter how dark the cloud, how hopeless the situation, how tragic the event, within everything is some good. All we need do to find it is cast aside our own anger, aversion, hate, self-pity, or other useless self-indulgent emotions, and replace them with tolerance.
In mind ’s eye, I visit that room frequently, to share a few minutes in silence…
A poem for her fiftieth birthday:
A Room Re- Visited (Diana Marie is fifty today.)
The room is silent
The crib motionless.
Even Angels hold their breath.
There you lay – the epitome of beauty -
Giving a meaning to death…
Ne’er a single gasp
Of this sullied Earthly air
Defiled those tiny lungs.
Eyes wide open – yet
Blessed with sightless stare.
For nine long months we waited
Our happiness and expectations grew.
But on that final day, we knew
We had created perfection –
And now must bid her adieu.
The drunken Medic – in duty failing
Denied our child her right to thrive.
Nurse ensured that mother survived – deprived.
Demon drink had taken its’ toll,
Ne’er would smile wrinkle our precious Doll.
Anger soared – my strongest emotion.
Engulfing grief in a flood-tide ocean.
Then as we lay, arms entwined
Gazing in awe at that serene child
All mortal feelings ebbed away.
What had seemed our tragic loss
Was merely the Heavens' gain.
A new Star to bright our lives' path.
Our child was free of any sin,
And thus would ever remain.
As peace’s cloak enfolded us there
I leaned to pass a fingered kiss
Then pulled up high our Angel’s shawl.
That tender gesture did not our child dismiss
Rather it covered the Doctor’s remiss.
Later - as my lover lay in deep repose
I moved our child to this adjoining room.
And sat there gazing in silent awe,
Then slowly rose: Placing my kiss,
I closed the door…
Diana Marie -
You were no more –
Have never been –
Yet always are –
Our darling daughter-
Contact Fanon: - BIO: I am the seventh of fourteen children brought up in poverty during the pre WWII depression years. At the age of ten I was convicted in Juvenile Court of a crime I did not commit. That set me against society, shaped my life, and left me carrying a huge chip against 'authority.'
Leaving school at thirteen, by the age of eighteen I'd made my fortune exploiting the weaknesses of the same corrupt 'Pillars of Society' who’d convicted me. I left England for the USA, set up business and bought real estate there. Returning to fight for King and Country, my 'talents' led me into becoming a Covert Operator. I worked for over thirty years in this capacity.
I'm uneducated, verbose, self-opinionated, and believe everything – good or bad – we experience can be used to our advantage. Recently, I’ve taken to writing, and now inflict my opinions on all and sundry. I enjoy writing anything from poems and children's stories, to erotica and horror. Mostly I like writing the truth. The truth can hurt, and is often hard to accept, nevertheless, I believe it should be told.