Mimi and Mary T.
M P Walsh
It was 25 December,
And a snug-warm Christmas day.
The temp was over 50,
The weather: bright, not gray.
But a sadness on this Sunday fair
Perplexed me...what was wrong?
As I left the cape with Judy,
Our intention?...visit mom.
It took two hours to get there,
In our Chevy cavalier;
Worcester, Mass., 3 Veterans Ave,
We parked around the rear.
Mom’s place was in a neighborhood,
With tough kids, drugs and smut.
Where painted words and messages,
Gave warning: Yo...we’re tough.
We climbed the stairs up to her door,
It wasn’t far to go.
‘Cause Mom lived on the first floor
So we knocked, to let her know.
Mom answered with a “Come on in!”
We entered saying “Hi!”
And once we entered through the door,
A whole new world was borne.
No painted signs of Gangdom found,
No punks to thwart our way.
No bogus signs of filth and hate,
Just Mom, her love and care.
We went into the living room,
And there sat Mary T.
I kissed her cheek, and hugged her close,
I Whispered: "I love you."
Sweet Mary T. was deep in thought,
We caught her by surprise;
“Hi John...Ed...George...who is it?”
“It's me, Michael...your favorite child.”
She said: "Of course I know it's you, my son"
Then laughed her laughing way.
But then, she got me wondering more
When she said: "Thanks for coming, Jay."
But now she looked, deep in my eyes,
And I saw the sparks ignite.
When she called me Mickey-Doodle,
Then I knew she was all right.
My brother George, he lives with her,
Gives of himself each day.
To make certain, sure, and positive,
That no harm comes her way.
More Walsh'es came to visit her,
To share their common bond;
Her other sons and daughters,
Ed and Pat, Trudy and John.
And still others made a visit there,
To bring their gifts of joy;
Her precious Mimi's children came,
With great-grand kids in tow!
Brianna, and Mark Anthony,
(Gosh! How big they've grown).
They love their Nana very dear,
One can see it in their glow.
There was Dipper, Dan and Jimmy,
Their smiles could light a sky.
And Kathy and Steve with their little wild ones,
(Also known as the terrible three!)
But her wrinkled brow, gave out a clue,
That she wasn't happy now,
As in other Christmas times gone past
And to me, she just looked sad.
Then I caught that glint of happiness,
In the eyes, of Mary T.
When she said she saw her own Mimi,
In the face of precious Bree.
Mimi passed three years ago,
Her death: a tragedy.
And now we miss her very much,
But most by Mary T.
Could this be why she’s sad inside?
Is it because I know?
That Mary T., still mourns her loss,
Her Mimi -- her pride and joy.
Because she always sobs these words:
"That Mimi! She played a trick on me.
She left me here, without good-byes,
She's gone...gone for eternity."
Now Mimi plays with angels,
On those puffy, fluffy-clouds;
And once in a while, right after a rain,
You can spot her rainbows' smile.
Perhaps! Soon the Angels and Mary T.,
Will journey to Mimi's side.
Away up there in Heaven
Her new address -- Ole Cloud Number Nine.
And as time drifts by, we'll join them there,
All of us: one by one.
We'll all see Mimi, and Mary T.,
To once again, have fun.
But...when that final day arrives,
And surely, I know it will come.
I hope to heck Gods Irish,
But please, GREEN, not the orange one.
'Cause I know what's going to happen,
Knowing Mimi and Mary T.;
They'll throw a gala party,
Just as sure, as sure, can be.
With Mary T., on the upright piano,
And Saint Gabe, on the golden horn,
Mimi will lead, the four Walsh boys,
In a '50s Sha-boom-boom song!
We'll have meatballs, and ham, and lasagna,
And three cases of Miller Lite brew.
Why, it'll be the best darn Christmas ever,
One that comes in the proverbial: blue moon.
And with all of us gathered together,
We'll make toasts with some Heavenly wine.
Then we'll drink to our grand reunion,
And we'll finish with: Auld Lang Syne.
Copyright © Michael P Walsh | Year Posted 2018