Discovery

Last week, I mentioned in a post that while I was recovering from my surgery, I spent a day going through family photos and documents.

I stumbled upon a poem that I wrote in 1972, when I was pregnant with my daughter, Nicole. She has been an incredible support for me. Specifically over the past few weeks.

First, by selecting the doctor who would perform the operation. Then by visiting me throughout the day of my surgery. (She works as a pediatrician in the same hospital.) It's nice to have a doctor in the family.

In 1972, little did I know that my daughter would one day be a physician in one of the world's most prestigious hospitals, a mother of two beautiful children, and the wife of a university professor.

The following is the poem:

I dreamed I stood in a studio and watched two sculptors there;

The clay they used was a young child's mind and they fashioned it with care.

One was a teacher and the tools he used were books, music and art.

The other, a parent who worked with a guiding hand and gentle loving heart.

Day after day, the teacher toiled with touch that was deft and sure,

While the parent labored by his side and polished and smoothed it o'er;

And when at last their tasks were done, they were proud of what they had wrought.

For the things they had molded into the child could neither be sold nor bought.

Each agreed he would have failed if he had worked alone.

For behind the teacher stood the school and behind the parent stood the home.

Little did Myra know then that her daughter would share her heart with a teacher.

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