The Three Sisters, Oregon
I’m lucky to have many decades-long relationships with women from Michigan to California. Wishing you many sisters-of-choice – soul-sisters – those you share your heart-felt intimacies with. Relationships sustained with a seemingly endless supply of love and support.
So much is changing in my later 60’s.
thankfully, not a heart attack, nor a stroke.
My body has simply revved-up
the once glacial pace of dying.
Dawned over decades,
broke through denial
that it would ever happen
Until I looked in the mirror
one morning and saw
Mom’s eyes as she aged.
A steady drip of endings,
an increasingly perceptible chiseling away,
living into diminishing returns,
one day a measure for the next.
The step-stopping pain
in a small toe
starts the morning after
the waterfall hike.
A massage ritual required
to overcome little piggy’s reluctance
to rejoin the foot in basic function –
didn’t used to be that way.
I lost my waist.
Have you seen it?
Counting steps, side-bends,
fasting intervals …
Apparently, that waist
belonged to a younger woman
and she kept it.
In the rear-view mirror.
What did you say? Seems noisy in here.
Did you know
there’s a magnifying app
on your phone
to help with menus and price tags?
I need a search engine to find a noun,
keep brain health supplements
out on the counter
so I won’t forget to take them.
Start the list,
repeating to myself,
check, double-check. Shoot!
I remembered everything but the spinach.
What’s happening to me?
Don’t bother with those palpitations
at the end of a hill climb.
Stop the coffee,
eat more beets.
Keep strengthening the muscles
protecting those guaranteed-to-last titanium hips
picked up from the orthopedic surgeon
At least that pain’s gone.
of seamlessly multi-tasking
raising children, running a business –
job completed, kids now thriving adults,
I fear I’m more tired than I should be.
wondering into a room
“What did I come in here for?”
Keeps me guessing.
Lots of unexpected moments,
a little comical, a smidge uneasy.
my new best friend,
comes with a world that is
spinning around so much faster
or perhaps, I’m just slowing down.
Preparing as best I can,
I’m likely to go tumbling off
Grief and Grace
attend most support group meetings
of friends my age.
Laughter may arrive late, but always comes.
We cautiously toss out stories
of our most recent visits from Loss.
They’re received in a knowing silence,
a gentle, grief-ridden pause.
We reassure each other.
We’ve grown far too familiar
with news of cancer, Alzheimer’s,
brittle bones and broken hearts.
A parent’s passing, a child’s relapse.
We joke about the day we’ll occupy rocking chairs
on some old person’s porch somewhere,
give updates on best fitting diapers,
tips to reclaim fading eyebrows.
The fact that we’ve got each other
is the best we have to offer.
But it’s not helpful in the night
when rats scrounge through memories.
Each of us feels terribly alone at times
in the evening of life’s wind down.
Thankful for Grief and Grace –
Life’s chaperones through the inescapable.
There are new dance steps
we learn with each other –
like chair yoga – less stretch, more gentleness,
tailored for this time, this body.
While dabbling with retirement,
Linda writes her first children’s book,
Terry starts golfing more, playing tennis again;
I’m off searching for the right words.
“Til our next weekend visit
my sisters, my friends,
witnesses to so much loss
midwives to our unexpected beginnings.”