Helping my Dad's Wife

Helping my Dad’s Wife

It’s been said 

That the best way to father your kids

Is to love their mom.

I’m beginning to wonder

If the best way to care for my dad

Is to love my mom.

 

Yesterday I spent some time

Sitting in the living room 

With my mother who just woke

From an afternoon nap,

Disoriented as she was disheveled,

My dad continuing to saw logs

Just on the other side

Of the paper-thin wall.

 

She’s been a trooper,

Pouring herself out as a drink offering

In service to her husband, my father.

But the pugilistic blows 

Are beating her down.

She’s showing signs of lassitude,

Overwhelmed and overcome

With the immensity and intensity

Of these weighty days.

 

This woman is legendary

A standout among her peers,

Strong as an ox

Gentle as a dove

Wise as serpent

Fierce as a lioness.

Shielding as a she-bear.

 

But these hours are trying her soul,

Testing the mental metal 

With the fiery furnace of aging.

There are days when she ascends,

Rising to each challenge

With the pluck of Rosa Parks,

But she also bears the untold burdens

Of a wife losing her husband,

Life slipping through her fingers

Like sand through the hourglass,

These are days of our lives.

 

Yesterday I sought to help my dad

By loving my mom.

I love her.