The Old Tree

 

The View From Forty-Two  -  Sarah Piazza
  written in 2010

Mommy! My son exclaimed Just the other day: You look like A tree! — and He chortled, then, At the offense: This green shirt, Those brown pants. I was delighted.

When I am old I hope the boy, Grown to man, sees Value In weathered skin Like bark, In hair so white It might cap Even rogue waves, In ropy-veined legs Working overtime, Bulging, and blushing, With dedicated effort.

And all that day I felt strong. Rooted. Proud, to provide Shade, and a moment Or two to contemplate For a wanderer Who might weep, grateful, To find me sturdy, To find me Still.

 

Way back when blogs were popular, Sarah wrote and posted this. At the time, I was 68, with a seven-year-old grandkid, and this poem spoke to me in a way that the author and the other young mothers in the blog ambiance could not relate to in the same way. I was backing up my daughter in caring for her daughter, looking after the child when that was needed. My other daughter was working overseas, in a job with a lot of stress, and calling on me to manage something she could not here, although only rarely. And, yes, I was proud to be in their lives, to be a convenience. Sturdy. Yes.

These same words curl into my conscious thought now so differently. If I once provided shade, I am now shaded, generously, often. Both my daughters live in the city near us and they check on us, carefully, thoughtfully, often. They do things for us that need doing. They are a great and continuing help for the parents whose skin has weathered, hair turned fine and white as foam on a breaker, legs ceased to work well anytime.  For whom just living is an effort.

I am so grateful for them. For them to be here for us. For all that I know they will do, willingly, cheerfully, until they no longer find me.