Celebrating My Mom’s Writing

Grace Christine Doucette, October 12, 1926-July 27, 2009

Dear Jeanne Marie,

I’m dysfunctional? What’s that you say?

Well, I’ll deny it to my dying day.

I look at the world with rose-colored glasses,

It’s the men I find that make the wrong passes!

I’m so innocent, I believe all their lies

I think that’s true love deep in their eyes.

I see only what I want to be there

And accept love unafraid, not a care.

I function perfectly straight every day

And don’t allow reality to get in my way!

When I kiss my prince, he instantly

becomes a toad,

And I’m covered with warts,

alone on the road.

But I keep going, living my dreams,

Life just can’t be as bad as it seems!

Dysfunctional? Nope, not me!

I’m still waiting for my prince at seventy-three!

Guess Who?  (Love, Mom)

THE FLAME

by Grace Christine

How many times must a heart break,

before it falls apart?

How many times can we sift the ashes

and force the flame to start?

In the pain of loving and dying each day,

the smallest flame can light our way,

And as crazy as it may seem to some;

it’s the hope of love that’s yet to come.

So we bind the fragments together with

glue, and place our faith and hope with You.

You alone, can see the other side of life,

You alone, know the purpose

of our heartache and strife.

ODE TO THE MAILMAN

by Grace Christine

You keep the mail flowing between

my daughter’s house and mine,

It’s worth the price, for this way we find

That loves keeps alive with each letter

So tell me, sir, what could be better?

Through snow, rain, sleet,

or hot humid day,

We know our thoughts are on their way.

You guard our hearts,

sealed in white paper

And we trust your devotion,

what could be safer?

I just wish I could squeeze me

tight inside,

I know I’d be safe

throughout the long ride.

And when she opened

my extra-large letter

I would pop out and hug her…

that would be better!

Love ya dear, Mom