THE WISDOM OF AGE

We are almost them; the older generation

We are becoming the matriarchs, the sages

We are getting wrinkles and cranky backs

We are seeing our spouses die

We are seeing our kids have kids

We are wondering how we will live

We are wondering how we will die

We are considering our lives

We are looking back but our memories are fading

We are thinking about how we will be remembered

We are seeing jowls and wobbly legs

We are moving into smaller places

We are seeing with fading eyes

We are realizing the preciousness of life

We are counting every blessing

We are smiling at the small things

We are enjoying every sunny day

We love the sound of laughter

We are happy to be loved.

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THE WAY THE ROAD GOES

I’m trying to grow up
I’m trying to change
To be a better person
because of my age.

I want to seem wise
To appear to be cool
I want people to think
that I’m not just a fool.

Cuz it doesn’t matter how much living you’ve done
I profess
You don’t know how to outrun
The troubles, the stress,
Just how to finesse
a perfect life; a home run.

I’ve got to fake strength
So people won’t see
What’s truly inside
this vulnerability

When life strikes you down
You’ve got to move on
Feel the hope, see the light
even when it seems gone.

Cuz it doesn’t matter how much living you’ve done
I profess
You don’t know how to outrun
The troubles, the stress,
Just how to finesse
a perfect life; a home run.

Illness

Invisible;
Inside the shroud of my own cocoon
Without intention;
Needing and wanting to be needed and wanted
Isolated;
By the bitterness of pain
Without the understanding by others of how it
Defines you
Separates you
Bears down upon you
Like a veil of self pity.
Renew me
Lift me up
Help me unravel the mystery
Of the how
Of the why
And let me live
My intended life.

TO MOM

Image

Peeking through the window she sees the young children

hurrying toward the schoolyard; pigtails chasing behind.

Faces bright, they take tomorrow and all its possibilities for granted.

She closes the curtains and inhales a sorrowful breath; she lost a friend today.

She remembers the laughter of a house filled with people.

A time when she was the focal point of her family’s soul;

when children were fixed on her sturdy knees,

happy to be wrapped up in mommy’s arms.

With knotted, aching fingers she holds a warn picture of her sisters, all gone.

A witness to each of their deaths she feels unsure whether she is happy to be the only one left.

She can look through old photos and count on one hand the people still alive;

dear memories of husband, parents, friends, and family.

She sits in her comfortable chair, knitting in hand.

No matter how much her fingers throb she will make blankets for gifts.

No matter how tired her worn body she will shop for the housebound,

attend meetings, volunteer, and care for those in need of her comfort.

Not one to worry about herself she will take what comes.

She hopes it will be quick but doesn’t dwell on the specifics.

Today she is feeling good; as good as 84 feels.

She puts down her knitted blanket to answer the telephone.

It is her daughter, her heart, calling to see how she is.

“I’m great!” she says, “I’m great!”

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