My father was a better writer than I will ever be because he always wrote from the heart and every so often, I’ll find a piece of prose he wrote and my eyes will tear up knowing the world will never get to read these wonderful pieces my father wrote.
My dad wrote the following and it is the least I can do to share it with the world on my blog.
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While traveling through my native hills, I stopped beside the busy highway at a small cemetary and since the day was hot I decided to walk in the shade among the stones. Some had verses proclaimin gtheir everlasting love. In the rear of the cemetary, was a small potter’s field where those with no money were buried. It seemed they were forgotten in death as in life. In the corner was a large fieldstone that caught my eye, on it was the name, date of birth and death, at the bottom was a verse, crudelly spelled: “I luv yu much. John.” As I stood there, I thought of this man of the hills, I am sure his hands trembled and he had tears in his eyes as he carved that stone proclaiming his love. So if like the man of the hills, poverty is my way of life and rings of gold and silver I cannot buy to show my affection or in death stones of granite or marble to proclaim my love, I hope my friends and loved ones will understand: there is no shortage of love; just of cash, because “I luv yu much.”
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Daddy, I will always “luv you much.”
Cairn by Cairn 