For Bernadette

Image found here.

The Luck O' the Irish passed you by

Out of 3 girls and 1 boy

Only you

Inherited your father's affliction

But like your patron saint

You still saw possibilities

Where others saw obstacles

And believed in miracles

While taking what science and medicine had to offer

And when your disease took your hearing

You still listened

When you could no longer walk

Your wheelchair became your legs

At the end it took everything

Except your grace

And it was we who had the luck

Of knowing you.

This poem was written for my sister-in-law Bernadette, who died last May of neurofibromatosis 2.

submitted for Theme Thursday