It’s a cool, dreary Thanksgiving Day, here on Vancouver Island.
This poem and photo came to mind this afternoon, again and again.
Thinking of all those struggling with these heartbreaking issues. Sending hugs. ❤
Your efforts ARE appreciated.
I know….because my mom so poignantly told me that, when I needed to hear it most, many years ago.
She sits in the diner, far from home.
Lunch rush over.
Blessed quiet restored.
It’s Tuesday, “her day”.
A crosstown bus ride, now a secret and special delight.
Away from the caring but claustrophobic family.
Still time to look back on happier days.
Trying to hold on to precious, fading memories.
The hours to savor, often still hopeful and good.
But too many others, a haze of uncertainty and doubt.
She will cautiously guard her fragile independence.
If only for a while longer.
Keeping them guessing.
Or so she hopes.
Where did the time go?
When did the children grow up to rise above her?
Knowing “what’s best”.
The mother becoming the child.
The child becoming the mother.
Trying to do their best..
Of that one thing, she is sure.
She grasps fervently and desperately to the time left.
To revel in these sacred moments alone.
Savoring her own thoughts.
Not willing to give…
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