This morning, February 4, 2013, I was greeted by the sight of two daffodils in full bloom in my garden here in Tramore, Co. Waterford. I readily admit that I went out to greet them in my mish-mish of a dressing-gown and wellies. All thoughts flew to my late father, especially when I saw the pair lean in towards each other as if having a private chat.
I couldn’t but smile as I thought of Dad saying to me, as he so often did: You’d swear you had bloody Kew Gardens up there, the way you’re talking.
Kew Gardens is on my list of places to visit but for now my two perfect daffodils are reminding me of a lifetime’s connection to these brightest of bright flowers. Here is a piece that I posted way back in the early days of this blog which I wrote for the Memory Bridge Foundation, an organisation which spells hope, happiness and humanity for me in terms of thought and action in relation to people with Alzheimers Disease and other dementias
THE DAFFODILS
One of my proudest moments in primary school was coming second in a class competition reciting a poem. I had chosen The Daffodils by William Wordsworth. The winner recited I am a Little Teapot and I remember well how she acted out all the different parts brilliantly and rightfully won the prize of a bar of rose-scented soap.
After I finished my Leaving Certificate, my older sister brought me on a hostelling trip around the Lake District in England. We visited the romantic, old-world Dove Cottage in Grasmere, where Wordsworth composed most of his great poems, including The Daffodils. I lingered and lingered there trying to soak up every detail of this overwhelmingly inspirational place.
Thirty-five years on, Wordsworth and The Daffodils have re-entered my life, as I share treasured moments reading poetry to my Father who is in his ninety-first year and confined to bed. He has had memory problems for a number of years now. I would never have associated Dad with poetry but, by chance, one evening I took out an anthology of Best Loved Poems and started reading to him as he was too tired to talk. When I reached the last verse of The Daffodils, I heard his sleepy voice chime in with mine ‘And then my heart with pleasure fills/And dances with the daffodils’. His pensive eyes met mine that evening, as they have on so many evenings since, with a glow of connection that draws us together on a memory bridge built of time, colour, laughter and love.
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Dad died very peacefully at home in September, 2010.
six weeks since you died;
I planted daffodils
to keep you alive
SOCIAL BRIDGE ~ Jean Tubridy connecting with you from Ireland 