A shorty story.

This is a revision of a piece I wrote last year, when I gave my dad (Pop) a pedicure.

You graciously gave thanks for the ‘laborious task’ ahead, tending to your feet.

The feet of my father, who was once a little boy and as I massaged cream into your skin with you watching on, knowing the stories that you had told me, I knew where these feet had been.

A child of seven that stood barefoot in snow as icy winds buffeted your tender frame. Courageously you chopped the wood, your pockets sewn, so hands could not be warmed. This your fathers orders – the family to whom you belonged and they sat beside the fire, whilst you shivered all alone.

These feet nightly climbed the stairs, plate held in your lap, eating your meal in silence, as you watched your ‘family’ below who sat on chairs and laughed.

These feet, could have walked the hallways of Universities, the teachers pleaded, you with a photographic memory. A waste of money, unnecessary, your step-mother’s thoughts, you were never given the chance.

With these feet you stood firm, the loaded gun twice held against your head, but you weren’t meant to leave this earth just yet.

These feet were forced to walk through ruins, carrying an empty pale, picking up dismembered parts of those you knew, those who were your friends.

These feet carried you in your escape, from the country of your birth. Crossing mountains, hiding, trudging through wintry forests without food for many days and nights.

Pop in the Middle

Pop in the Middle

These feet brought you here, a new life. Your bride to be in hand, building a house with no carpentry skills for the family you knew would one day come.

They ran and played when we were small, to then walk me down the aisle.

These feet, are older now, they hold your frail body.
These feet I want to tend, they are not a ‘laborious chore’
So let me do this out of love for you, now and forever more.

2013-08-30 10.06.10

Since living at my ‘penguins’ home, I find the need to write more about them these last few days.
Pop escaped from Czechoslavakia.


39 thoughts on “Remembering

  1. Your Pop must have been a special guy! You are blessed to have had him. Your story reminded me of how I combed and massaged my father’s head when I was up into my teens. ❤ 🙂 Good memories…

  2. What terrible, ugly-spirited people could do this to a child?
    Sweet story of a loving daughter, so thoughtful to take on this task for your father. I begin to understand how how and why life has been of late. 😦

  3. This is such a moving story, Jen. What an amazing life he must have had (we should take nothing for granted in our lives when people have lived like this) xxx

  4. Oh Jen… emotional this is. What horrors your father experienced. What courage he has to smile that beautiful smile and enjoy a beautiful life. This is an incredible story. Full of so much love. Thank you so much for sharing it.

    • Yes unfortunately he was subject to many Col, indeed he can smile now, even after what he experienced. Thank you for reading and you are welcome, I’m glad it touched your heart as much as it did mine when writing. xx

  5. Wow! Such a lovely tribute and wonderful story of your father! I think filling a pan of warm water, or a tub, and giving your Dad some gentle massages would heal you, along with filling your Dad with your love. I did this recently for my Mom, she still mentions this as one my most thoughtful things, since I also trimmed up her toes, put an anti-fungal cream on her feet and toes… I am just babbling! Love, Robin

    • Thank you very much Rob, that sounds like a beautiful idea. I would like to run him a nice hot bath, but he would have difficulty getting in and out. You are not babbling, I do the anti fungal cream too for them. My heart smiled knowing how your mum felt after you did this for her. A loving daughter, providing comfort for her, the mum you love. Hugs xx

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