MUM
This woman is remarkable, in truth my dearest friend
who accepts me without question and is loyal to the end.
We share different tomorrows though the gap is closing fast
she knows of my beginnings and accepts my chequered past.
This woman is remarkable; I look at her and see
a person brave and steadfast – someone I would like to be.
She’s never to my knowledge let a challenge her defeat
and yet she’s ordinary, you’d pass by her on the street.
She looks like any other women out there of a certain age.
Well dressed and neat, tidy, discreet – no sign of outward rage.
Pleasant, polite, quiet spoken – always has a ready smile
but inside there lies a tigress, though she’s been tame for a while.
I have to face the deepest truth – the child left behind
is now three score and a few years though one score in her mind.
Who wonders daily if she has tenacity to last
the distance as her Mother did and does. Time's moving fast.
I look sometimes at Mother and recall a younger Mum
and I’m sad to see her aging and I know it’s not much fun.
But she’s gracious in her winter years – has poise and dignity
and as I look in the mirror I see Mum looks quite like me.
But the person in the mirror I see when I’m half awake
is not my lovely Mother, though misted mirrors are opaque.
The mirror is clear, so is the mist perceived just in my eyes?
Are my thoughts now clouded selfishly with dread of her demise?
For every day a little more of my Mum drifts away
the difference imperceptible. She knows. She feels dismay.
Her memory bank is slowing down and limbs are getting weak
and eyesight now is failing fast – words lost she needs to speak.
She fears for independence lost and in truth so do we
but plan to let her carry on, retain her dignity.
Her genetic pool is very strong and that works in her favour
and no matter how hard the road gets humour will be her savour.
She never cries if she can laugh – sees beauty in each storm.
Sometimes outside gets chilly but inside her love is warm.
Mum’s been the matriarch for years, this family’s heart and soul.
The glue that sticks, the tie that binds. She makes our family whole.
Maureen Clifford © 01/12
