Strands of hair turning grey
Every word takes longer to say
Feet can no longer make a step
Her body is nearly out of pep
Faces she can no longer recognize
And names which she cannot memorize.
Her once amusing stories became repetitive
An evident proof that her memory is already inactive.
Her figure, once confident and tall
Became crooked and her shoulders fall
Her delicious recipe, now buried on the pan
Because she can no longer cook nor stand.
I remember when she takes care of her children
When she stays up late and cradles them like heaven
She’s patient, gentle and thoughtful
She’s their first teacher of becoming moral and faithful.
I remember when she works at night
Just to finish sewing the dresses with all her might
In her mind says she’s already tired
But in her heart reads she should do what is required.
I remember how she saves every penny
Together with her husband, they work fully
To give their children education
So they’ll have better lives in future’s creation.
The sacrifices she made and countless hardships endured
She survived it all because she’s good.
She dedicated her life for her family
Her family, that makes her world lively.
I surely miss her jolly mood
The time when people visit her just to feel good.
I surely miss her witty talks
The moment when she speaks for her folks.
I surely miss her Christmas gifts
When she says, “My grandchildren are all my favorites.”
I surely miss the wonderful taste
Of her cookings, unworthy to waste.
She surely misses all the gatherings
When all her children are beaming
A family united by unselfish loving
A love shared by the woman who never stops caring.
Now I see her from her open window
Her old age brought her away from the flow.
The world revolves and seems to forget a corner
Where she sits unnoticed and no one remembers.
As I look at her, I came to ponder
Does her old age mean “Do not bother,
I am old useless and much of a nagger
So go on with your lives and forget that I’m your mother.”
Here’s the question that needs an answer:
“How come my family has forgotten about their mother?”
Time is running, death is closer
Don’t wait for the end, it’s time to remember.
—- I wrote this last Mother’s Day (I believe that was 2013 or 2012) while I was sitting infront of my grandmother’s house. Too bad she didn’t know that it was her day being a mother. Too bad. You know what I mean. I know the poem has many errors but I’d like to convey a very painful message. Someday when I sit infront of my open window, I wish my children or anybody will still look at me and will make my remaining days memorable despite of my demented memory.