I spent the day with my mother. She's 86; suddenly more frail. Not the indomitable woman of my youth.
how soon the child-dreamer
becomes the elder -
the matriarch
falling failing
becomes the elder -
the matriarch
falling failing
In less than an hour impatience is telling me to leave. I start plotting when and how . . . but then an inspiration . . . or maybe just good luck: my mother has a history book of the town where she still lives. The town of my birth and where I grew up.
she who gave me a love of books
and read to me of girl-dreamers
and boy-seekers
and boy-seekers
of adventure, mystery and lore
now i read to her
I read of stories that become fodder
for remembrances to share
catalysts
for her oral history
intimate
stories that expand in this larger context
the day was saved
her anger dissipated
my impatience assuaged
I felt a better person
2 comments:
Such a lovely story. I well recall these times with my mother when she was aging. A spontaneous gesture or act could recreate and save the hours together so that it seemed special when it came time to leave. And now those are the memories that have stayed with me.
oh thank you Phyllis for these affirming and encouraging words. they mean a great deal during this difficult time.....
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