Labor Of Love Poem by Dianna Clary

Labor of Love

Written By: Dianna Clary for Her Mother Thelma Carver December 1987
When I was a small child, my mother told me a story of how she lived thru the Great Depression. This story is about one of my mother's memories during this time. I write this to honor my mother's memory and to remind everyone how important love is to all. Rest in peace dear mother, I miss you so much mom. Love Dianna March 2007

LABOR OF LOVE
The year was 1932 our country was still suffering from the greatest economic disasters of all times 'The Great Depression'. My parents like so many others had no money due to this disaster. It was very hard for a man to take care of his family the way in which he felt he should, and my father was no exception he was always able to care for us and give us the finest of things. I sometimes wander if he ever realized that the Christmas of 32' (1932) he gave me more than ever before. The snow had fallen and the season was quickly approaching the feeling of Christmas was in the hearts of all, I as a child in all my innocents never realized that the hands and hearts off love would make this the Christmas one I would always remember. My little sister and I would watch, as my mother would become so intensely involved in the art of taking old clothes that others had cast off as refuge, and make the prettiest dresses and bloomers sets you would ever want to see. We felt as if we were adorned in the queens finest, because you see, love made those dresses glow like the finest gold you have ever seen. My father on the other hand was a mystery he would leave the house and when returning he would have old boards full of nails all bent and useless. At one point I remember when he drug in an old set of hinges that had a dull tarnish look as if they had never served any purpose. My father was a very educated sort and one day he did the oddest of all things I can remember, the reason it stood out in my mind all these years is because, my mother was always so agreeable with him but, on this day she was questioning him as if she thought he lost his mind. He had spent half the day out and had returned with an old can that was covered in snow and contained all sorts of rusting screws, for the next few weeks that followed he would not go out much, but spent a lot of time in the coal shed that set in the back if our flat. During these years, there were no welfare agencies so the Red Cross assisted people with relief. Our home was a two family flat that housed four families we lived in two rooms and our greatest convenience was a coal stove. There was no Christmas tree are decorations and a turkey was only for the rich. On Christmas morning, my sis and I awoke as if it was another day we knew not to expect Santa because he had lost job to when the depression hit. The only thing we could look forward to was a Christmas Dinner that Mayor Dickman had arranged for families like ours at the town hall. Boy where we surprised to see that the old pile of wood, bent nails and rusty screws had turned into the most crafted piece of art there were drawers and slots and shelves all as perfect as though they were manufactured that way originally, my father as stern and orderly as he was had let his hands and heart create what he always found it so hard to say, it was just a secretary desk to him but it took the drive of love to create that desk. As I grow older I realize now what I think slipped by me then, love cannot be bought in a store are paid off with a kiss and hug, it comes from deep inside your soul and is always there for all times never to be removed with death are years but only to grow stronger as time goes by. I was ten years old and daddy's little girl, now I am 66 years old and still my daddy's little girl even though he has passed on in body his love and my mothers love lives on still. My only hope is that my children and people from all walks of life and nations will know as I did, and do, that the Labor of Love is deep within us all.

Thank You and Merry Christmas.