He was always there, my father, <br />constant as gravity. <br /> <br />And photogenic too, <br />with scrubbed square hands <br />and a pugnacious Roman profile. <br />He looked just like Henry XIII. <br /> <br />His surgery was his kingdom <br />and he ruled over his patients <br />with firm benevolence <br />and a twinkle in his pale blue eyes. <br /> <br />As children we didn't see much of him <br />- mum made sure of that - <br />but he was always there, <br />dependable as the Herald Sun. <br /> <br />He adored mum with fierce, <br />uncomplicated tenderness <br />and they fought long and hard <br />(mostly about me) . <br /> <br />He used to stamp his feet <br />(literally) over trivial things, <br />yet when the final diagnosis came, <br />he took it in his stride. <br /> <br />Latterly he grew thin and grey <br />and lost his colonel's moustache, <br />but he always enjoyed his glass of red <br />and watched the Channel 2 news every night. <br /> <br />My last picture of him <br />was a pair of pretty feet <br />at the end of a hospital bed...<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/recollections-of-my-father/
