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.