Mom

it’s strange to think
as I sit in front of her
that she’s nearly 86
for most of my life I didn’t
imagine her as ever getting old — 

frail and white haired
her memory has thinned
more than her hair
the names of her children
sometimes elude her
old friends are dead or nearly so
she’s lonely and bored
more than a little bitterness hangs on her sighs
her days escape her

I can see the desperate frustration
on her pale face
the frown 
the weary blink of her misty eyes
her pursed lips
then a wave of her hand
a dismissal
a sign of helplessness

she says she has had enough
she’s weak and tired
wishing she could die finally — 
I admit that her condition
scares me

I have to remind myself of the obvious — 
she gave birth to me and my brothers 
a strong young and beautiful woman
with dreams 
of living some kind of a good life
raising us boys
watching us grow into our own lives — 
many things
did not go the way she had hoped — 

it’s scary to see 
my destiny and futility 
sitting before me
I know I’ll be there one day
not that long from now
losing my memories
my body falling apart
unaware of the days that slip by
I'm simply hoping my children
will not be frightened