Mom fell in her bathroom early this morning. She wasn’t seriously hurt, but is shaken and sore.
It’s hard to watch her world grow small as she grows more frail, but I feel more and more certain we made the right decision when we moved her. And I am more and more in awe of her indomitable spirit and sense of humour.
Mom reluctantly posed with a book for a library Community Reads event (about five or six years ago)
The Taker
Old ages is a taker,
A thief,
A silent pickpocket reaching into our lives,
And slipping away with our strength,
Our independence,
Our dignity.
Old age is an assailant,
Jostling,
Tripping,
Pushing us down,
Until we must lean on others to rise.
Old age is greedy.
It takes our world,
Shrinks it,
Returns it.
Grabs it again,
Hands it back,
Each time smaller than before.
Old age is a taker.
It takes our bodies,
Our minds,
Our lives,
And only our spirits are left behind.
The Byrd and the Bees 