Since I was only 19 years old, sitting in a frayed chair,
of soft,curly hair, stroking it, as it mixed with my own.
That was the incomparable joy of motherhood.
A sleepy head upon my shoulder, or laying beside me,
a soft, even breath when sleep finally came and I could rest.
I would lovingly touch their sleepers of pink or blue,
as I laid them beside me, watching them as they dreamed.
“It’s hard to be someone’s everything.” I told my friend.
A young mom too, she laughed and said, “But so sweet!”
In those difficult times, I though,how true it was,
To be wrapped in the joy of life’s greatest pleasure-motherhood.
Now, I am not young, and have spent nearly 40 years,
with a soft head of hair in many colors, and textures
laying beside me, or on my shoulder, they all loved being loved.
For me to rub their backs or heads as their eyes closed for the night.
We have been through so much, over the years-
the unimaginable joy of new life and the unspeakable sorrow
of the loss of a child, and still, running my hand through
each child’s hair has remained an unforgotten blessing.
Today, I walked into my teens room, music playing quietly,
and saw him lying there with her head on his shoulder,
His girl, not me, and I found it hard to hold back the tears
as I walked away knowing those days would soon end.
Yes, I would rub the heads of my many grandchildren,
such beautiful, soft hair, I touched and remembered.
But it wasn’t the same. I would lay them in their bed,
or take them to their home. Leaving me here, alone.
If only I could be young again, tired again, I thought.
Running my hand through silky hair, and knowing,
that this tiny act of love between us was so precious,
would one day be only a sweet memory, but not,
I hoped, today…..