Helping


Mother




Well, the decision had been made,
The house was going to go,
"An apartment, Mom," the children said,
"This place too big for you alone."

"Don't worry, Mom, we'll help you pack,"
And, of course, I knew they would,
But so much stuff ... so many years,
Would such a move be good?

The first free weekend that they had,
They descended on the place,
I tried hard to stay in charge,
But soon learned I'd been replaced.

Chairs and tables switched around,
One by one, they disappeared,
I'd start to sort through little things,
And halfway through, they were not here.

I picked up a doll my Grandma'd made,
I knew it had to go,
Just a moment, I wanted to hold it,
But guess I was too slow.

Luggage

There was no time to think at all,
Their actions were so fast,
"She doesn't need this.  She doesn't need that,"
They didn't bother to ask.

"That goes.  This stays.  Oh, toss that out,
What does she want this for?"
Finally, I sat back and watched,
I could do no more.

I sat in my old rocking chair,
Where I watched and rocked and sighed,
This whole thing ... not going well,
I began to fume inside.

Luggage

"STOP!  I'M NOT INVISIBLE!
AND DON'T EVER CALL ME, 'SHE!'
I HAVE A NAME ... IT'S 'MOTHER!'
AND I CAN HEAR AND SEE!"

"DON'T TREAT ME LIKE I AM NOT HERE!
DON'T SPEAK ABOUT ... OR OF ... ME!
IS THIS JUST A CHORE FOR YOU?
DO YOU NOT CARE OR LOVE ME?"

All activity came to a halt,
The children, frozen in their tracks,
My outburst surprised them so,
I got the attention that I'd lacked.

Luggage

"Slow down, kids, and take it easy,"
My voice level down,
"You know that's my entire life,
You're tossing carelessly around."

"I know I must dispose of things,
But not like this, my dears,
I'm entitled to my 'Good-byes,'
And, if need be, to my tears."

"I will not be morose,
Nor make this hard for you,
I am used to letting go,
And I know what I must do."

"But, don't push me and don't rush me,
In fact, let me choose first,
Don't do my choices for me,
That, somehow, makes it worse."

Luggage

Adult children really mean well,
And their grown-up hearts are good,
My kids weren't raised to behave this way,
And I never thought they would.

Then came lots of hugs and "Sorry, Mom's,"
And I, too, wiped my tears,
I looked at my penitent children,
I'd done something right through all those years.

My luxury of time, near gone,
I'm most aware of that,
I can give up ... I can move on,
But let God tell me how to pack.

~ Virginia Ellis ~
Copyright 2001




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