Picture of my father, John Clinton McCrory, Sr., when he was about 19 years old in 1912

"The Other Side" by Ann Murray

The Shadow By: 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 hed come another day                  He was very meek and mild.

Then I noticed, only when Im 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, hed 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  

                                                                                                        another day.