I am an aging parent who must be dealt with. My greatest worry is becoming a burden to my children. I know I am not as sharp as I use to be. I am old cantankerous and stubborn and wrinkly and forgetful. But I am still here.
This is a favourite poem of mine. It reminds me of my dear Mummy and always brings a tear to my eye:
Cry from the HeartWhat do you see nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking when you are looking at me –
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes.
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply?
When you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try.”
Who seems not to notice the thing that you do.
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.
Who, unresisting or not lets you do as you will.
With bathing and feeding the long day to fill.
Is that what you are thinking, is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse, you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am, as I sit here so still.
As I do your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten, with a father and mother –
Brothers and sisters who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet.
Dreaming that soon now, a lover she’ll meet.
A bride now twenty, my heart gives a leap.
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At 25 now, I have young of my own.
Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A woman of 30, my young grow fast.
Bound to each other, with ties that should last.
At 40 my young sons have grown and are gone.
But my man’s beside me, to see I don’t mourn.
At 50, once more babies play round my knee.
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead.
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own.
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
I’m an old woman now and nature is cruel –
‘Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body it crumbles, grace and vigour depart.
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells.
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years all too few – gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact, that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurse, open and see.
Not a crabby old woman. Look closer – see ME.
Anonymous –
believed to have been written by
an old lady in a geriatric ward
in a hospital in Bath, England