Picture of my father, John Clinton McCrory, Sr., when he was about 19 years old in 1912
"The Other Side" by Ann Murray
The ShadowBy: Frances M. McCrory-Meservy May 1966
I lay very still in the night; At 21 with my first child, I came home
I could not move for fright To my old room with haunts that roam.
The shadow of a man came close; That night as I lay nursing my little one
My whole mind he did engross. The shadow came, I knew was done.
The shadow went away He came to see his grandchild.
But I knew he’d come another day He was very meek and mild.
Then I noticed, only when I’m bad, It was my father who died when I was only ten.
Did he come looking so sad. Was looking over me; had always been.
I grew up with the shadow lingering in and out. I was all grown up; had not been bad.
Knew if I were good, he’d not be about. He seemed a bit happy, a little sad.
My brothers would not sleep in my room I was afraid to breathe, he would go away
They knew the shadow, a sense of doom. He smiled, was gone; would not be back