Daddy and Mama were married almost fifty-six years when Daddy passed away. There were tears when he left us, but there was always the humor of some memories. Here is a poem I write expressing some of those memories.
PEANUT BUTTER AND POTATO SALAD
My mother took my hand in hers. Small and soft.
His had been rough and creased.
His fingernails always wore the grease
From fixing cars all day,
No matter what he did to clean them.
Someone from the church brought food.
We ate because we knew we should.
Potato salad. Tangy. Smooth.
Touch of sweet.
Wayne said, “Yeah, it’s good.
But Mom, it’s not as good as yours.
Dad would say, ‘It needs more mayonnaise.’”
Peanut butter cookies for dessert.
Still warm and sweet and soft.
Gayle said, “His meal was never done without
His bread and peanut butter.
Or his tall, green plastic glass.
“Hey, where’s my water?”
“Remember the recliner?”
I knew that everyone could see
Daddy’s favorite chair.
He’d held so many grandkids there.
But when his lap was empty,
He’d lean back,
And the chair would tip
Until it rested on the floor,
Daddy’s legs and feet up in the air.
Darlene Estlow, 2004