Hard..... [girlhood To Old Age; Life; Family; Racial Discord; Marriage; Very Long] Poem by Bri Edwards

Hard were the calluses on my Daddy's hands the first time he held me,
and hard it was on Christmas morn' to find only one small gift beneath our tiny tree.
Hard was my Mom's life, raising seven kids and washing other people's clothes.
Without our family's belief in God, life could have been harder.Who knows?

Hard it was for me, in several ways, when a little blonde boy threw a rock which broke my arm.
That was the one time I believe Mom lied to me; she said 'He meant no harm.'
Hard it was when my Mom tried to explain why 'our' seats were at the rear of Selma buses,
and hard it was, my first day at Jefferson Davis Elementary; so MANY made so much FUSS!

Hard were the long nights I stayed up studying after I did the dishes,
and hard it was for me and my parents to make come true my college wishes.

It was hard for all when off to Cornell on the Greyhound I ventured forth,
and it was strange at first, coming from the Deep South, to now be living up North.
It was hard to only afford one phone call home a month, but a lot of mail from home I got.
Life became less hard as I adjusted to college and life living with my aunt.I blossomed quite a lot.

It was hard breaking up with my first boyfriend, a Big Red football player,
but as hard as it was, it added a useful experience, another growing-up-layer.
It was hard, it hurt, when I never received an invitation, to a sorority, to join,
but it perhaps concentrated me more on my studies, and saved me some 'coin'.

It was hard sometimes when I had to work at my part time dining room job,
but it was easier than imagining myself being a wealthy coed snob.
It was hard financially on my parents when for my graduation they came North.
But they were thrilled to hear that my undergraduate record caused a grad school scholarship to come forth.

That fall I began attending Cornell's School of Architecture; quite a challenge.
My fellow architecture students, from around the world, were quite a mélange.
School was hard but I loved it and, with a loan helping, I no longer waited on tables.
My life now revolved around learning about poured concrete, angles, space, and gables.

It was hard not to love all, that for two years, I was taught,
even though the long days and nights working on projects, with stress, often was fraught.
Hard was the work, but sometimes harder was having almost no social life …..
except what we had as fellow students, andcompetition was always rife.

Hard it was after grad school to leave Cornell's beautiful quad,
and hard, at first it was, being a junior associate on an architectural firm's squad.
I learned the ropes from some pros, and my reputation spread by word-of-mouth.
It was nice in some ways to be at least half way back in the South.

Now I could afford a car and I got back home at least once or twice a year.
It was difficult to get my conversation with Mom and Dad to, away from me, steer.
Chief among Mom's questions for me was 'Have you met any nice men yet, my dear? '
She was sure I'd be a business success but, that I'd end up an Old Maid, she did fear.

In a few years I became the lead 'man' on some small jobs for one key client.
In a few more years, for larger jobs, the partners became, on me, more reliant.
I did take some time to socialize more, and I joined an 'exclusive' St. Louis health club.
I no longer felt it likely that, due to being black, I'd receive a snub.

Ten years into my career I met a tennis-playing accountant named Phil.
After we started dating, with dreams of having my own family, my head began to fill.
Six months into our romance, I took Phil to visit Mom and Dad, arriving in town on a rainy night.
Though I'd 'warned' them both ahead of time ……., I could tell they BOTH had reservations about Phil being white.

But we pulled off the visit with the help of my younger sister and brother,
and, when it was time for us to depart, with hugs my parents both me and Phil did smother.
More frequent visits Phil and I made to see my folks, often flying on down,
and when I visited Phil's parents in Pittsburgh there was nary a frown.

It was hard to not rush into a premature engagement,
but to help quiet us down we started a cohabitation arrangement.
Finally it happened and in another year we were happily married.
It was hard to be told we could not have our own children, but the disappointment we both buried.

But we both wanted children and we adopted two, one white and one black.
It was hard to keep from piling things on them so NOTHING they'd lack.
The best schools, the best clothes, the best educational toys.
And we did our best to see them socialize rapidly with other girls and boys.

It was hard when both our son and daughter off to college went.
Our girl off to Boston for liberal arts, and our son off to L.A. for engineering we sent.
My parents retired, thank goodness, and we had them come visit us often.
Now my Mom could rest her back more, and Dad's hands could soften.

It was hard for all when Phil had his first heart attack.
But he got better each week until finally he was totally again on track.
But I'll have to admit (don't tell Phil) it was nice to beat him at tennis now once in a while.
He would, as always, advance to meet me at the net at game's end with a big smile.

Our children were adopted at ages 7 and nine.They were our pride and joy.
There was always a regret they were not biologically ours, but they were always OUR girl and boy.
Phil and I and Mom and Dad attended their college graduation days.
And our children continued to make us proud and thankful in many ways.

It was hard when Phil had his third heart attack.He almost died.
It was so hard waiting, Phil having to retire, until a donor heart was supplied.
But the surgery went like clockwork.Before long he started to work at home part time.
It was sometimes hard to leave him at home when I went to my office at Ryan, Beckett, and Grime (I'm Grime) .

The hardest thing in my life up to age 55 was the day my mother died.
As Phil and I and Dad sat at her bedside with my siblings, we all cried.
Dad came home to St. Louis to live with us and became a fixture in our house.
We both cherished the years we had left with him.He was quiet as a mouse.

Dad lived another fifteen years, for the last of which we had a live-in nurse.
It was another extremely sad and hard day for me the day he was carried to the cemetery in a hearse.

Our children had their own weddings and our grandchildren started to arrive.
By the time I was 75, Phil and I had added up our grandchildren to a grand sum of five.

Then came the HARDEST day of my life, the day I found Phil lying in our bed.
I knew before I even touched him, that the best part of me was dead.

I moved to be near my daughter, to 'assisted living' by the Pacific Ocean.
I've led a full and mostly happy life, but at times I'm still choked by emotion.
It helps to have friends in my building and to have my daughter and some of her children near......, but
every night at bedtime...., for Mom and Dad and Phil, .... I still shed ONE tear.

(Dec.2012)