The Nights are Worst
Despite the comfort of her home
a grey-haired senior sits alone
reflecting on her life’s long road
the joys and sorrows once bestowed.
It’s not as though her life’s severe
although the pain in joints and fear
at night are constant testament
to her advancing years.
Her days are full and she attends
arranged activities, and friends
stop by to pass the time and help
hold back the solitude.
Her parents passed, her spouse passed too,
her siblings gone, she can’t renew
old friendships, they are gone as well,
its hard to make new friends.
Two sons she bore and nurtured ‘til
maturity but worries still,
though there is little she can do
for them at this late date.
Her children visit when they can,
the elder, almost daily, and
he maintains the house and car,
though not as promptly as she’d like.
She understands, each has his life
to live as they see fit, but strife
occurs with some harsh words exchanged
when needs for independence clash.
The loss of independence stings,
brought home by far too many things
like cutting lawns or washing floors
or walking with her dog.
She loses strength and balance too,
she loses friends who are too few.
Perhaps the worst of growing old,
is unrelenting loss.
She counts her blessings every night
and they are manifold, but slight
comfort from her melancholy
thoughts when she’s alone.
Old memories, so treasured when
they’re shared with family and friends
are bittersweet when seen alone,
her loved ones long since gone.
Her bible and her dog are there
as constant friends against despair
that some nights threaten to o’rwhelm
her in her solitude.
The morning brings a lighter heart,
she can look forward to her part
in random acts of kindness to
unsuspecting strangers.
To those with greater need than hers
small kindnesses she does confer
and gives pleasure to her neighbours
by accepting help herself.
And who’s to say she does not play
a role of greatness every day
by bringing kindness to the life
of others.
© David E. Moon, 2014 All rights reserved