I was emailed this from my brother and it touched my heart. I wasn't too sure which category to list it in so I picked 'Personal Growth." I hope it touches your heart also... It's not a question but I would like your comments.




CRABBY OLD MAN:


When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North
Platte,

Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his meager possessions, they found
this

poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made
and

distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to
Missouri .

The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas
edition

of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide


presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the
author of

this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man:

What do you see nurses? . . . .. . What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby old man . . . . . not very wise,
Uncertain of habit . . . . . with faraway eyes?

Who dribbles his food . . . . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . . . . .. 'I do wish you'd try!'
Who seems not to notice . . . . . the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . A sock or shoe?

Who, resisting or not . . . . . lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . .. . . The long day to fill?
Is that what you're thinking? . . . . . Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse . . . . . you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am. . . . . . As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, . . . . . as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of Ten .. . .. . . with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . . . who love one another.

A young boy of Sixteen . . . . with wings on his feet.
Dreaming that soon now . . . . . a lover he'll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . . . my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows . . . . . that I promised to keep.

At Twenty-Five, now . . .. . . I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . .. . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . . .. . With ties that should last.

At Forty, my young sons . . . . . have grown and are gone,
But my woman's beside me . . . ... . to see I don't mourn.
At Fifty, once more, babies play 'round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . . My loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me . . . . . my wife is now dead.
I look at the future . . .. . . shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing . . . . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . .. . . . and the love that I've known.

I'm now an old man . . . . . and nature is cruel.
Tis jest to make old age . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles . . . .. . grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a stone . . . . where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass . . . . . a young guy still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys . . . . . I remember the pain..
And I'm loving and living . .. . . . life over again.

I think of the years, all too few . . . . . gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people . . . . . open and see.
Not a crabby old man . . . Look closer . . . see ME!!


Remember this poem when you next meet

an older person who you might brush aside

without looking at the young soul within.

We will all, one day, be there, too!

Stringer :)

Damn stringer.

That was written in truth,not blood,not tears,but truth...

Does that make sense?

damn stringer.

that was written in truth,not blood,not tears,but truth...

does that make sense?

Yes I agree Red, That's what bothers me I think. Thanks for your thoughts.

Love that. Thank you for sharing it.

You are very welcome Ms.

I was very close to my mother who passed about 2 1/2 years ago (time goes by so quickly) and up to the last moment she was active and alert at 82. We all miss her guidance and wisdom.

Thanks Stringer. Very inspirational poem. It's great to see things from a different perspective.

I am glad that you liked it.

I fear that a lot of people may somehow lose respect from others (in some ways) when age sets in. It seems that in the 'olden days' people sought the wisdom that many golden agers had obtained. Maybe not so much today...

I know that when I was younger my grandparents were pretty much the center of all our activities.

And although I am not saying that places like nursing homes are a bad thing (many have no other choice), we never considered placing anyone in one. We took care of our own. But I would rather this didn't turn into a discussion about nursing homes.

Stringer :)

I got chills, down deep in my heart... thank you, Sir Stringer. Beautiful reminder.

My grandfather was a cobbler ( fixed shoes) in a tiny village for years,his shop was called the 'shoe hospital'.

As children we made regular visits to see him and my grandmother.

There were two high stools in the shop,that seemed to be never vacant.

He was a big strong man,never said much,just loved his family.

I used to sit under the counter and watch him work,trying on peoples shoes that needed fixing and watching him work.

It was only years later,I figured out that people used to come and get their shoes fixed or some odd job just so my grandfather would listen to their tale.

He would work,they would talk and he would listen,never offering advice nor opinion,he just listened.

He knew the secrets of the whole village.

When he retired, the whole village came to the party and thanked him for his years of service to the people of the village,not just for cobbling shoes but for being the 'go to' man if you had a problem.

My grandfather taught me a valuable lesson,people,who ever they are,just need to be heard.

my grandfather was a cobbler ( fixed shoes) in a tiny village for years,his shop was called the 'shoe hospital'.

as children we made regular visits to see him and my grandmother.

there were two high stools in the shop,that seemed to be never vacant.

he was a big strong man,never said much,just loved his family.

i used to sit under the counter and watch him work,trying on peoples shoes that needed fixing and watching him work.

it was only years later,i figured out that people used to come and get their shoes fixed or some odd job just so my grandfather would listen to their tale.

he would work,they would talk and he would listen,never offering advice nor opinion,he just listened.

he knew the secrets of the whole village.

when he retired, the whole village came to the party and thanked him for his years of service to the people of the village,not just for cobbling shoes but for being the 'go to' man if you had a problem.

my grandfather taught me a valuable lesson,people,who ever they are,just need to be heard.

Wow, great Red. I think that you hit one one of the human failings, people don't listen. People just want to be heard and feel important. And in today's world we don't seem to have the time do we? Listening, really listening is an art and your grandfather sure knew his art. I would have loved to have met him and talked with him.

Stringer :)

Red, is your grandfather still with us?

My great grandmother told stories. She loved to tell us about her life when she was younger.

Sadly, I don't remember much of the actual content of her stories now. She's been gone for more than ten years, and my memories have faded with time.

The thing I remember most is the WAY she told her stories. She loved those times, missed them, but was content with where life had led her. She remembered her past fondly, and you could tell.

She developed alzheimer's in her final years. There were times when she didn't completely recognize the people around her. Those were the times when she told the best stories. She wasn't remembering the past, she was LIVING it again. The memories were new for her.

Those times scared and worried my mother. I liked them. I got to see her a way I never had before. She came alive with the memories. She'd never been depressed to dejected, but there was a difference. I got to watch her talk to a cousin that had died when they were young.

The spells never seemed to worry or confuse her. They'd last for a few minutes, then she'd know where and when she was again. She would tell us about whatever memory she had just revisited. Memories she hadn't thought about in years.

Maybe it's because I was a kid. Maybe it's because she never seemed worried or confused or bothered by the spells. Maybe it's because I liked her stories. I have no idea. All I know, is that I never saw the alzheimer's as a curse the way the rest of my family did. I simply saw it as something that WAS.

She had a long, sometimes hard life. She survived the great depression. She outlived two husbands. She raised my grandfather on her own for several years. She saw her grandchildren, great grandchildren, and one great great grandchild. She lived through nine decades of american history. She was am amazing woman who lived an amazing life, and got to relive a few of those moments in the last couple years of her life. I just can't see that as a bad thing.

See, Stringer, that smart-aleck comment I keep making has a grain of wisdom. You remember the one about I stopped counting at 22 because I thought Jack Benny waited too long.

my great grandmother told stories. she loved to tell us about her life when she was younger.

sadly, i don't remember much of the actual content of her stories now. she's been gone for more than ten years, and my memories have faded with time.

the thing i remember most is the WAY she told her stories. she loved those times, missed them, but was content with where life had led her. she remembered her past fondly, and you could tell.

she developed alzheimer's in her final years. there were times when she didn't completely recognize the people around her. those were the times when she told the best stories. she wasn't remembering the past, she was LIVING it again. the memories were new for her.

those times scared and worried my mother. i liked them. i got to see her a way i never had before. she came alive with the memories. she'd never been depressed to dejected, but there was a difference. i got to watch her talk to a cousin that had died when they were young.

the spells never seemed to worry or confuse her. they'd last for a few minutes, then she'd know where and when she was again. she would tell us about whatever memory she had just revisited. memories she hadn't thought about in years.

maybe it's because i was a kid. maybe it's because she never seemed worried or confused or bothered by the spells. maybe it's because i liked her stories. i have no idea. all i know, is that i never saw the alzheimer's as a curse the way the rest of my family did. i simply saw it as something that WAS.

she had a long, sometimes hard life. she survived the great depression. she outlived two husbands. she raised my grandfather on her own for several years. she saw her grandchildren, great grandchildren, and one great great grandchild. she lived through nine decades of american history. she was am amazing woman who lived an amazing life, and got to relive a few of those moments in the last couple years of her life. i just can't see that as a bad thing.

Neither do I HH, neither do I...

Funny, one evening when my wife and I were talking I ask her to promise me that when and if I ever got that way to please remember that 'I' am still 'in there.'

See, Stringer, that smart-aleck comment I keep making has a grain of wisdom. You remember the one about I stopped counting at 22 because I thought Jack Benny waited too long.

You're right Cats... funny heh? :)

Neither do I HH, neither do I...

Funny, one evening when my wife and I were talking I ask her to promise me that when and if I ever got that way to please remember that 'I' am still 'in there.'

She never stopped being my grandma. She was just 'younger' sometimes.

she never stopped being my grandma. she was just 'younger' sometimes.

I think that I understand.

It was harder on my mom. Maybe I handled it so well because I was so young. I was only 12 when she died. Things were still mainly black and white. She was my grandma, so nothing could make her not my grandma.

No matter how old we get we are still connected to those who went before that we love.

No matter how old we get we are still connected to those who went before that we love.

When I get old and feeble (next Thursday?) it will likely be better to live back to now with my wife and kids than then in a sterile home alone.

Thank you for sharing that wonderful article. I'm going to copy it and email it to my sisters and brothers. Do you mind?

Thank you for sharing that wonderful article. I'm going to copy it and email it to my sisters and brothers. Do you mind?

No not at all, I think something like this should be spread around as much as possible, thanks Kit. :)

That was very special stringer , Thanks for sharing :)

Stringer, I had a look earlier but actually couldn't get my words succinctly on to the page so I'll try again...

This is wonderful, an eye opener is always greeted well in my book.

It is easier than I would like to forget the wisdom that the older generation hold. I have an adopted Granny and Granddad, not legally but in love, and what they teach me by just being in my life is insurmountable. When Granddad died last year, it wasn't his death that saddened me, though it did wound me, it was looking at my Granny and seeing how lost she was.

They had been together over 60 years and the love that they felt was palpable miles away. Even after 9 kids of their own, countless grandkids and great grandkids. They are two of the most postitive and uplifting people that I have ever met.

Moreover, I have another small point to make. It is easy to see the wisdom and goodness in the ones we know and love. But in the course of my life I've had the opportunity to meet many older people through the job that I worked and where I worked and the amazing thing that I found is, they all have a more interesting story to tell than any you could read in a book. Now there was many who said 'You don't really have to listen, just look like it'. Sure that would be harder!

Stringer, thanks for bringing all these lovely memories back.

(p.s. if this seems to flounder a bit I'm sorry)

Stringer, I had a look earlier but actually couldn't get my words succinctly on to the page so I'll try again...

This is wonderful, an eye opener is always greeted well in my book.

It is easier than I would like to forget the wisdom that the older generation hold. I have an adopted Granny and Granddad, not legally but in love, and what they teach me by just being in my life is insurmountable. When Granddad died last year, it wasn't his death that saddened me, though it did wound me, it was looking at my Granny and seeing how lost she was.

They had been together over 60 years and the love that they felt was palpable miles away. Even after 9 kids of their own, countless grandkids and great grandkids. They are two of the most postitive and uplifting people that I have ever met.

Moreover, I have another small point to make. It is easy to see the wisdom and goodness in the ones we know and love. But in the course of my life I've had the opportunity to meet many older people through the job that I worked and where I worked and the amazing thing that I found is, they all have a more interesting story to tell than any you could read in a book. Now there was many who said 'You don't really have to listen, just look like it'. Sure that would be harder!

Stringer, thanks for bringing all these lovely memories back.

(p.s. if this seems to flounder a bit I'm sorry)

Not at all Never, I appreciate your comments very much and your wisdom also.

Made me cry:( remembering my Granny (years ago) who I always gave the utmost respect and listened, truly listened to every word she ever muttered. Some still haunt me to this day.

And now with my Mother in Law who is more than a chore, but I have always felt that she deserves all the respect I can possibly give her. I can see it in her eyes, that she is still the same person she has always been. (and a pain in the A$$):)

There is a great book out there called 'Water for Elephants' by Sara Gruen that also deals with this in a wonderful way. I really enjoyed the book.

Thank you for sharing:)

Some people may remember a class from a little hick school in Rabun Gap Georgia trying to collect enough stories from the local oldsters to put out a magazine. It kind of worked

Foxfire books - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Foxfire_books)

I'm sending this to my friends and family. I might even place one on the "Events" calender where my mother-in-law is. What a sweet lady she is. Altzshiemers is such a horrible disease. I still see shadows of the woman she was and we cherish her.

Thank you Stringer! That was a really interesting :)

Hi Unky, you are welcome.

Thanks Stringer, I have seen it before but it still moved me to read it again.

The lesson is of course (often forgotten because we are after all just human), that we mustn't judge or stereotype anyone at ANY age.

My mother is 85 and I love that there is a mischievous child hidden behind that 'ageing' exterior. We were in a lingerie shop recently and she got a fit of the giggles, I thought to myself, 'here we go, senility is finally catching up,' and asked her what was up.

She informed me that she'd just loudly farted as she was buying some undies and was highly amused that the sound of the cash register had masked the noise.

What can I say? She's always thought that farts are hilarious. Enjoy your parents while you can.

Hi Gem,

I would love to meet your Mom, she sounds like my kind of people. :)

How true, Having your parents really is a blessing.

When I was very young things were financially tough and I remember at 5 years old I made my mother a promise that some day I would take care of her. Later I had that opportunity and I kept my promise, now I am so glad that I did.

Comments on this post
Unknown008 agrees : Your grandmother must have been a great woman!

She was. I took a lot from knowing her. It's because of her I'm a packrat, and love cats as much as I do. She's also the reason I love the smell of old books.

She kept everything. There was a stack of neatly folded wrapping paper in the corner of one room taller than I was. She always swore she'd use it someday. Every time we went to visit her my brother and I would find some new hidden treasure in her house.

The best times were when one of the many cats she fed would have kittens inside. She fed all the neighborhood cats and let them in the house. When they would have kittens we would have about a month during which they would let us touch them. After that they would go feral, like their parents. I don't think there was ever less than a dozen cats around her house.

When I was about 9-10 she gave me a book. It was the only present I ever got that was actually from her. My grandpa did all of her shopping for her, since she very rarely left the house. One day when we were visiting she took a book off the shelf and gave it to me. It was 'the history of ohio' printed in 1904. I still have it.

Whenever I smell old books or moth balls, I think of her. And I smile.