Our Last Dance
I've loved her before I even knew how much I love(d) her. She was the first person I was aware of that cared for me. The flaws this woman has are few, yet the consistency in which she is able to exude them is far beyond what I care to focus on. She's so beautiful. I love her so much. It pains me that I can't help her more. That I can't give her what she desires. It troubles me that as hard as I work for her to not worry about (the little) things, she will find a way to remind me that there is still something missing.
I ponder if people that have much older parents find themselves really enjoying the moments they get to spend with their parents. I think of those that rarely see them. Do they even reach out to let them know how much they wish they could spend more time with them? I wonder how the great daughters & sons (continue to) deal with watching their parents get older.
As much as I exhibit & say: forever young, the memories I have of seeing my mother strive to extend & move her arms....
.. seeing her lying down then struggling to sit up....
.. making the effort to stand up straight....
.. watching her distress to take one step in front of the other....
.. witnessing her hunched over as if she was a very much older woman....
I remember thinking, "Wow. She is only 48 years young."
I am filled with sadness when I think of all discomfort that she goes through daily. I tell myself that she is not in any pain without even asking her if her joints & muscles have been bothering her. It is still so very difficult for me to show her affection when any & every one else in my life gets my tenderness. I want to embrace her. I want to braid her hair. I want to run my fingers through her long curls & let her know that everything is going to be okay. I want to tell her often that I care for her & that I love her dearly.
I want to take care of her more than I already do. It no longer bothers me when I see how much more easier it is for her to show my brother her love (she reserves just) for him. I honestly don't mind it anymore because I know that I get to show her how much I love her. I still want to love her more than she would ever love me. I don't concern myself with how (un)fair it is because no matter how much she damaged my development, she is my mama. & the realization that she will not live forever, causes me grief. I dislike seeing her growing older. I want to be able to give her parts of my strength. Tell her that I have plenty of it.. that I could get more later, so I don't need it at the moment.
Oh, Mama. I just want to make all of (y)our dreams come true. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, again.
I ponder if people that have much older parents find themselves really enjoying the moments they get to spend with their parents. I think of those that rarely see them. Do they even reach out to let them know how much they wish they could spend more time with them? I wonder how the great daughters & sons (continue to) deal with watching their parents get older.
As much as I exhibit & say: forever young, the memories I have of seeing my mother strive to extend & move her arms....
.. seeing her lying down then struggling to sit up....
.. making the effort to stand up straight....
.. watching her distress to take one step in front of the other....
.. witnessing her hunched over as if she was a very much older woman....
I remember thinking, "Wow. She is only 48 years young."
I am filled with sadness when I think of all discomfort that she goes through daily. I tell myself that she is not in any pain without even asking her if her joints & muscles have been bothering her. It is still so very difficult for me to show her affection when any & every one else in my life gets my tenderness. I want to embrace her. I want to braid her hair. I want to run my fingers through her long curls & let her know that everything is going to be okay. I want to tell her often that I care for her & that I love her dearly.
Our last dance together was amazing. It was at someone else's wedding & I had stepped outside to get elevated *smirk* I came back inside to see her twirling gracefully along the dance floor. I remember slowing down my steps to observe her movements. "She is magic," I thought. I commenced to remove my jacket & joined her. We became enwrapped in one another's energy, simply moving to the music. There were countless others rhythmically moving near us, yet every time I caught someone else's glance, it was directed towards us. The admiration in the ballroom for a daughter & her mother showing off was felt immensely. I smiled so big & laughed here & there because I knew how much fun was being had between us.
I want to take care of her more than I already do. It no longer bothers me when I see how much more easier it is for her to show my brother her love (she reserves just) for him. I honestly don't mind it anymore because I know that I get to show her how much I love her. I still want to love her more than she would ever love me. I don't concern myself with how (un)fair it is because no matter how much she damaged my development, she is my mama. & the realization that she will not live forever, causes me grief. I dislike seeing her growing older. I want to be able to give her parts of my strength. Tell her that I have plenty of it.. that I could get more later, so I don't need it at the moment.
Oh, Mama. I just want to make all of (y)our dreams come true. Thank you for loving me unconditionally, again.
-a daughter that will try harder.
