Your words plunder my heart
for what I am telling you is real
but you don’t hear my reality.
How can I make up for a thousand
errors in judgement, slips of the tongue,
tears of depression . . .
You, still young, don’t understand
the ramifications of age
creaking of bones, emotional balance,
various and assorted illnesses
How I tried hard to be what you needed,
failed miserably and now rue the costs.
I am aging. Likely I have many years ahead.
But I want to share them with my family there,
the ones I gave birth to.
The difficulty is, should I be there
the increasing impediments aging brings
would mean you would be asked
to provide increased help when
what most excites you is the life
you live now . . . and who can blame you?
Which brings me to more pain.
If I moved back, I might only be
the person of misery there before –
neither of us want that. I’m stronger
physically and mentally, but,
I am aging. And you fail to realize
and I don’t want to lose
those precious moments.