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Archive for the ‘Writing Just Because’ Category

Happiness

Lounging on the couch minding my own business I feel the pull and tug of chubby little two year-old hands groping my clothes as if I’m a ladder to climb up. I, of course, aid in this climb by giving him a boost, and our giggles send signals out into the house. Born with a built-in fun-antenna, these giggle signals are picked up instantly by my oldest son. Suddenly there is an extra 40-plus pounds pouncing on me as well. Tyler tries out his ninja moves that I nimbly block as Declan wraps his arms around my neck grinding his teeth as he smushes his little baby face into mine.

I love being a jungle gym. As a mom of two boys, one of whom is extremely active, I have become accustomed to being jumped on, climbed on, crawled on, and in general, used as a gym-class mat. Despite the occasional smack in the face as I am being mauled by two sweet boys, I relish these moments. The rare peace and quiet in our house often turns into a wrestling match, Mom vs. TyDec. Ticklish spots are their weakness causing my opponents to be swiftly taken down in a fit of yelps. I use these moments to steal extra hugs and snuggles because I know soon enough my jungle gym days will be over.

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A New Role

I walked into their house
as I’ve done so many times.
A house with infinite memories.
Echoes of laughing cousins
playing in the basement,
traces of hobo dinners, garage gatherings,
and music from acoustic guitars linger in the air.
I walked into their house
with a new role.

A smiling white-haired face
did not come to greet me at the door.
Instead, I walked in to my grandparents
sitting in their chairs in silence.
I did not wake to the sounds
of my grandma in the kitchen at the crack of dawn,
a place she could always be found.
There were no smells of Polish sausage
wafting through the house.
I did not chit chat with my grandma about
the specific way she cooks our usual family breakfast
while we drank coffee in the kitchen.
Instead, I had to coax my grandma out of bed.
When she got confused and put her bra on upside down,
I helped her put on her clothes.

I did not hear booms of carefree laughter
ringing through the house.
Instead, I listened to my grandma
fretting about who was going to make them dinner.
I listened to my grandpa’s fear
of his wife’s deteriorating mind
turn into lashes of the tongue.
I could hear the exhaustion
in my aunt and uncle’s voices.
I could hear the quiet frustration
of how merciless aging can be.

I walked into their house
with a new role.
I dispensed medication into the palms
of those that once lovingly patted my cheeks.
I administered eye drops into small clouded brown eyes
with sparse white eyelashes sprinkled on the eyelid.
I helped them out of their seats
and made sure they did not fall.
I watched carefully as their feet shuffled along,
their hands grasping their walkers.
I made them breakfast and
served them their coffee, 6
teaspoons of milk for grandma.
I asked my grandma if she was finished
eating, so she could take her pills.
I did the laundry and washed the dishes.

I walked out their house
feeling older, feeling more aware
of how swiftly life moves.
Remembering all those times they
cared for me, it was my turn
to care for them.
I walked out of their house
feeling grateful for all the
memories they have given me
allowing me to willingly accept
my new role.

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New Role

I walked into their house
as I’ve done so many times.
A house with infinite memories
of laughing cousins and
memorable conversations.
I walked into their house
with a new role.

I did not wake up to the
sounds of my grandma in the
kitchen at the crack of dawn.
Smells of Polish sausage
wafting through the house.
Instead, I had to coax my
grandma out of bed and
help her put on her clothes.

I did not hear carefree laughter
echoing through the house.
Instead, I listened to my grandma
repeatedly worry about who
was going to make them dinner.
I listened to my grandpa’s fear
of his wife’s deteriorating mind
turn into lashes of the tongue.
I could hear the exhaustion
in my aunt and uncle’s voices.
I could hear the frustration
of how much lives have changed.

I walked into their house
with a new role.
I dispensed medication and
administered eye drops.
I helped them out of their seats
and made sure they did not fall.
I made them breakfast and
served them their coffee.
I did the laundry and
washed the dishes.

I walked out their house
feeling older, feeling more aware.
Remembering all those times they
cared for me, it was my turn
to care for them.
I walked out of their house
feeling grateful for all the
memories they have given me
allowing me to willingly accept
my new role.

Read Full Post »