For some reason, I thought of Mrs. McGhee today. I first met her in church, a lovely Christian lady with snow white hair combed to perfection Although she was way up in years, her face didn’t seem wrinkled. Maybe it was that ivory white face powder she used that gave her that angelic, almost porcelain appearance. Her husband had died not long before and she had no children. Now, she lived all alone in a little white house near the church.
One day I spent a little time with Mrs. McGhee and I got to know her a little better. That was the day she told me of her loneliness. She said she missed her husband and then her brother had also died. Her brother was the last of her family, leaving her all alone. She told me that she missed being hugged most of all. What she said next made my heart ache with sorrow as she turned to me and said, “Now, there is no one left to call me Clara.”
People often forget what it’s like for the elderly yet we will all pass that way if we live to grow old. After that day, I always gave Clara a hug and I thought of her as family.
I wrote this poem for Clara and other Claras out there who need a hug and would like to hear someone just say their name.
There Is No One Left …
There is no one left And I am all alone. No one to say my name Or call me on the phone.
There is no one left Since all have gone away. Love once shared my life In time, it could not stay.
There is no one left As the clock strikes the hour Tomorrow it will be the same, Imprisoned by time’s power
There is no one left Love fled the place I live I yearn for gentle hugs Or just a smile to give
There is no one left I wait beside the door And wonder if there’s anyone To love me anymore
By Pamela R. Blaine © April, 2001 pamyblaine@blaines.us http://blaines.us/PamyPlace.htm