- Posted May 9, 2012 by
This iReport is part of an assignment:
What makes your Mother's Day special?
No typo error there,we’re not going to talk about how to raise kids but raising Moms Hope my mom doesn’t get to read this or I might get conked in the head.Mom’s a real character (hope not a police one) She’s the extrovert in the family,being a former television personality. I’m more of an introvert,just like my Dad (Thank God!)She walks and talks as if there are still cameras following her every move.Hey don’t get me wrong,this isn’t ranting,but more of an acceptance of the grim truth that when you’re dealing with someone who’s over the hill,you must really have stretched patience and understanding.Mom’s an eye-catcher in her younger years,always fully made-up and dressed to the nines when she goes out.Looking at her,felt like an ugly duckling.One time I asked her,”Mom,do you think I’m pretty or ugly?” She curtly replied, “You’re both.” Whoa! How can that be?! Then she made a killer follow-up to that, “You’re pretty ugly…” Now I know where I got my crazy sense of humor. Now,the mood swings are something else,north to south,east to west. One moment she’s in an ecstatic mood,then a crumpled face which even Leonardo Da Vinci cannot paint.I’ll joke with her and say,”Hey mom,think you’re already having senility bouts” Aging is a mortal sin for her,lol! Livid,she’ll reply “How dare you talk to me like that,Anna uhmm Angela no,AILEEN!”
So when you think that moms can be such big headaches,just remember this,we will all grow old and could even be worse.
**Mom suffered a massive stroke a month ago, and is now bedridden.Breaks my heart to see her like this.No trace of the bubbliness she once possessed.This morning,she told me that whatever happens to her,I have to be strong.Life must go on.No matter how hard I try to condition my mind,I can't be ready for this.
Her once velvety skin
Now leathery to touch
Sparkling eyes,windows to her soul
Now an empty gaze and losing sight
Her sweet smile,turned to wry
Shoulders hunched,can’t help but cry
The spring of youth,comes to a fall
Cold,clammy hands like wintry weather’s hold
Slowly,she succumbs to her summmers of life