Let Me Know When The Train Comes

Daddy, I wrote this to you a few days before you passed away.  I was awaken in the night, and the Spirit moved me to write.

Let Me Know When The Train Comes
Let me know when the train comes
got my bags packed
I’m ready to go

I hear the train a-coming
chug-a-chug-a chug-a-chug
Yet, I can’t see it in sight

I’m trapped in a peripheral space
Tubes in, respirator in place
Tell me when the train comes
So I can get out of this place

I’ve served my time,
I’m free to go
Yet, I can’t move
The ones I love keep holding on

The train seems late
I’m waiting at the gate
Let me know when the train comes

I smell the smoke of the train
I hear its wheels on its tracks
I’m ready to go
But something, someone
Keeps holding me back

I see the train right in sight
The light ahead is very bright
My loved ones say their last farewells
The plugs and tubes come out
I’m free to go

The train is at the gate
I step on
I wave and say
“Until we meet again”
“Until we meet again”

Written by Yvette Porter Moore
2001

Daily Visit at My Father’s Feet

My Father
Wally Porter

     Dad, do you know the extent of my love for you?  I really think it was your love for me, that summoned me to sit by your feet, stand by your side and hold your hand.  It was not one moment in the 10 hour to 12 hour days that I wanted to leave your bedside.  


     You were a man of which I could have never imagined to be trapped inside a body that would not move for you, a voice that could not be heard, as you were trapped between flesh, blood and bone.  I cried out for you, to our God, and prayed with the faith that you would become whole.  That you would walk again, talk again, and be the one you had always been.


     Since you could not go to the outside, I brought the outside to you.  I brought the Jazz, that I would dance to as you played your drum with the one hand that would move.  Your one foot would tap to the beat as the syncopation of the music would run through your body and mine.  I danced with such fervor as if we had our last dance, as in “Dance with my father Again.” 


     I took moments of time to sit and talk to you, but you couldn’t talk back.  I had the floor to myself, and all you could do was listen.  One day I said to you, “When you are sitting all alone, what do you think about?”  Not knowing you would respond, I looked at the expression on your face, and the depths of your eyes, you somehow pulled up the strength and said, “Youuuuuuu.” Your Word moved my heart to tears as it was the first word I had heard you speak since the massive stroke you suffered and it was the last one I would ever hear again.


     I visited you daily.  I did not miss a beat.  It was in those times, I was helping mom, as it was really hard on her to handle everything at home and be there for you all the time.  This separation wore on mama dreadfully, and zapped most of her energy.  She had peace of mind knowing that I was there.


     It was a daily ritual for me to cleanse your face, wash your hands and your feet.  It was in those moments of washing your feet, I felt the closest to God and knew I was honoring you for all you’ve done for me.  

At My Father’s Feet

At my Father’s feet
I Learned to Love
At my Father’s feet
I learned to hope
At my Father’s feet
I learned to have patience

At my Father’s feet
I saw a strong man
At my Father’s feet
I saw him be weak
At my Father’s feet
I saw his Love grow
At my father’s feet
Compassion was action of the day

At my Father’s feet
I saw his Spirit become strong
At my Father’s feet
I learned to communicate with no words

At my Father’s feet
The wind blew in
At my Father’s feet
You let go

written by Yvette Porter Moore

A Living Tribute to My Hero-My Father: Sentimental Sunday

My Father Walter Porter was born Sept 11, 1927 and died August 7, 2001. I had the opportunity to read my tribute to him about 6 months before he had his stroke in 2000. I also read this at his Celebration of Life. My father’s reaction, “He cried, which in turn made me cry.”
             As you sit and I read the title of this paper, you may be pondering, “Why on earth would I title this paper as such?”  Well, to be quite honest with you dad, I was driving down the street a few days ago, and the thought of writing my father a tribute was dropped into my spirit.  So many people give living tributes after their loved and admired one’s are in the comforting arms of our Lord.  Your failing heart woke something up in me, and I felt pressed to give you the contents of mine, so that you may know how I feel about you and how your life has touched mine.  I don’t want to wait for the day that I won’t be able to see your face.  I want my tribute to be given to you while you are here, so that I can see the expression on your face.  I would write a tribute, and read it on that blessed day to a congregation of folks, but why?  I don’t think I could live with myself knowing that I didn’t say all I wanted to the one whom I cherish.
               Daddy, all my life I wanted you to be proud of me.  I craved to hear the words, “I am proud of you.”  Well you told me the other day with heartfelt tears that you were proud of me.  I felt at peace to know that I am on track.  I want to let you know that I am proud of you too.  I have never once, not been proud of you, even when you would walk down the hallways of my Jr. High wearing your 70’s style plaid suit. I was proud of you when you earned your doctorate degree.  I was proud of you when you retired with honorable mentions.  I was proud of you when you celebrated your 25th and now 44th wedding anniversary.  I was proud of you every time you were in a position of leadership and on the different organization advisory boards.  I am proud of you now for just being my daddy.

Dad was w/Salvation Army Advisory Board for 24 years

                I admire you with all your tenacity for living and your admirable life.  I admire your strength, the love you have for life, and how you share your experiences with others so that they may learn from them.  I have never seen you once, not wanting and not able to help someone in need.  You always go the extra mile to touch a life; while improving it.  My life you have touched.  I could live 100 years and could never fill the shoes that you have set before me to walk, but you have given me a great example to live by.

               I know I was slow in pursuing my education, but because of you, I knew I had time.  I always kept it in mind that you completed your bachelors at 39.  I learned from you, that there is no obstacle that can’t be overcome.
               In writing this tribute, I need to say, “thank you.”  Thank you for all the memories we have shared.  Thank you for the more than half-eaten McDonald hamburgers you shared with me for lunch.  Thank you for the outing to Lake Murray when I was little.  Catching those polliwogs was fun, but why couldn’t we take them home?  Thank you for your encouragement when I ran the 440, and I actually won the race.  Thank you for your discipline of love, even though you thought it went through one ear and out the other.  Thank you for the tires you replaced on my car, and the old tapes that play in my head about having jumper cables, a blanket, and flashlight in the trunk.  Thank you for the NAACP meeting you dragged me to, (I actually enjoyed the attention, and the candy store down the street.)  Thank you for the trips to the Salvation Army thrift shop to by my clothes for school, (You always were looking for a deal.)  Thank you for scaring me with Jodie, the dummy, I shall never forget.  Thank you for entertaining my elementary school with Jodie, and playing your bongo drums, (It made me feel special.)  

               Thank you for my first job at the Starlight Opera, I learned every show tune.  Thank you for the Bon-Bons at the movies; (Why did I only get one?)  Thank you for your never-ending love you have for me, no matter where I’ve been in my life.  Thank you for standing by me during my times of struggle, (you didn’t even run.)  Thank you for your sense of humor, and the joy you seem to give.  Thank you for the times you would wash my hair; (I just couldn’t stand the twisting to get the water out.)  Thank you for your patience when I would sing two hours in the car to Los Angeles; (and it was always the same old song.)  Thank you for the time you carried me into the house after a long trip, (I really was not asleep), but who wouldn’t want their daddy to carry them in while feeling secure.  Thank you for the outfits you have adorned me with, just like mom.  (You know I couldn’t wait till I was old enough where you would buy me some.)  Thank you for being a wonderful grandfather to my children and the quarters you’ve handed out.  But most of all thank you for being the most wonderful dad; a daughter could have, and wouldn’t want to be without.