Aged and aging, sitting on the porch,
reminiscing about her life, she rocks. She sings.
She’s given birth seven times, two died and five thrived,
grew to be parents themselves.
Hard times have come and gone and with each she learned, she grew.
Now she waits for the kids and grandkids to come and visit
and at times the waiting seems like an eternity, so she waits, she rocks, and she sings.
She remembers a time when her oldest son wouldn’t let her out of his sight
and she chuckles at the memory. She thought he’d never learn to be apart
from her and now all these years later, he’s learned the lesson all too well.
Busy with his own life, conquering industry and the world,
raising his own little ones, and doing an admirable job of it.
A tear slides down her cheek, a tear of pride and pain at the same time.
The second son is in prison, twenty years or more yet to go
and she knows she likely will never lay eyes on him again.
He was the sensitive child, always unhappy,
always in the midst of storms, almost always made by himself.
Troubled, that’s what they called him. A troubled child.
Not strong enough for taking the high roads in life,
but more comfortable on the low roads amongst the
crooks and druggies. Made him feel superior maybe,
or maybe just accepted. He wanted to fit in somewhere,
and now he does.
Another tear escapes.
The only daughter comes to mind,
now on her third marriage,
a child that lives with her father.
She was the little princess.
Tried to protect her, to show her the way,
and in the end, she just wanted love
and looked for it in all the wrong places.
But a good woman, just the same,
has a good heart.
Works at the diner in town, sixty plus hours a week
and wouldn’t have it any other way.
Maybe works herself into exhaustion so she doesn’t have to think
about the mistakes she’s made in her life,
doesn’t have to think about the days
when she drank heavily and lost custody of her only child.
Such a sad life, yet, she’s trying.
She’s pressing on and there’s something to that.
No matter what, there’s something to that.
The two youngest boys are living outside of town,
sharing a rental house together,
going to school and working, carving out lives for themselves.
Only a year apart, they are the tightest of the siblings
and genuinely seem to look out for each other,
and that makes the old lady happy, truly warms her heart.
She muses, she remembers, she rocks, she sings.
As her heart fills with love and gratitude,
she grows tired. Soon the chair stills as the sun goes down.
The creaking of the chair stops, her head falls forward.
In heaven, she appears on a white rocking chair,
she jerks awake. Lifts her head, opens her eyes.
Tears flow down,
and she rocks and she sings.