The first person I ever truly mothered was my own mum.
The earth-shattering, numbing truth that those life-givers,
sustainers and maintainers of our infant years,
those whose strength conquers mountains of anguish,
whose knowledge soars above the tempestuous seas,
whose love has no limits within human expereince
and those whose passion and conviction for you and in you and with you will never be equalled,
standing, one moment, proud, strong, invincible
and then collapses on my shoulder, the weight falls forward into my unexpecting arms, the tears dampen my neck, nuzzles my shoulder as I did hers, as she did hers, as they did theirs, a child holding a parent.
And so I hold the role reversal with all the courage I can find, aspiring at the heights of the protective grip of a mother for her child.
The sobs shake the small body in my arms,
the heaving chest does not stop as soon as I would like.
Thrown into the abyss of the unknown, I let my grip loosen,
afraid of the implications of such a moment.
Yet a knowledge, instantaneous and pure, of the path to take
crawls from within my bowles.
I fall back towards my weeping mother and hold her like I never have before.
Claudia Fitzgerald
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-title-is-yours-for-the-taking-mum-crying-the-morning-after-grandma-died/
