The Day I Die

Here’s a poem I wrote many years ago, dedicated to my own Mother Dear.

The day my world ends,
The day my heart last beats;
Could be the first day another’s begins,
The day the miracle of life again feats.

Maybe she’s an infant
Taking her first cry,
Or maybe she’s a toddler
Waving her first goodbye.

She might be the little girl
Awarded her first A plus
Or the ornery pre-teen
Grounded for her first cuss.

She might be the teenager
Landing her first kiss;
Or the star of the softball team,
Comforted after her first miss.

Or perhaps she’s the star of the basketball team
Or even the homecoming court’s queen.

Maybe she’s the valedictorian
At her high school;
Or the girl who said no to drugs –
She’s no fool.

Maybe she went to college,
Without knowing what to do;
But then maybe she’s the one who found herself there,
In a short year or two.

It might be the girl
Who landed a killer job.
Or maybe she took a year off to see if she could tutor kids
And keep them from the mob.

She might have moved to the big city
To see what she could see;
Or maybe in her heart of hearts
She knew it was in the country
She should be.

Maybe she fell in love and had a wedding –
The most perfect there ever was.
Perhaps there was a family later,
Where she learned quickly about parenting –
Why it was all the buzz.

Maybe she raised her own children
As her parents did with her.
She’d shed them with love,
And any sickness, she could cure.

Her career, her family –
It was all mediocre, you see;
Nothing special from the outside,
To you and me.

The years, they’d pass by –
Faster and faster they go.
Until one day she looks up
And her hair is grayer than you know.

Maybe her children have had children,
As cute as can be.
Now she and her husband are grandparents
And they’d even babysit – for a fee.

The years go by,
And the children grow.
Grays turn to white,
And her back makes her hunch low.

Then one night deep in sleep,
She might have a thought:
Of her own mother dead long ago,
Though she fought.

She smiles and knows,
Though her time is near.
Her own will think of her often,
As she thinks of her own Mother Dear.