Memories of my sons

 
I have stood beside you
so tall and strong at the peak of your young lives
 . . . it is hard to remember memories of you learning how to crawl,
continuously falling
yet crowing in new achievements.
At last, walking in triumph upon two shaky little feet,
it is hard to remember old memories.
Your first day of school ... scared, shaking inside,
 a strong person on the outside . . . another on the inside.
You never wanted to be anything less than perfect
 yet not wanting anyone to know ... that other person.
It is hard to remember old memories of
your later years, bikes and toys filling our yard.
At times I would awake to find
your friends, escaping life by quietly entering that back door, 
filled with anger, seeking someone to care, 
filled with a need for love and acceptance,
seeking peace.
It is hard to watch teenage struggles, my own and yours,
heartbreaking and unreal
appearing to destroy, but only age-old steps in learning what life was about
...  yet always unable to see,
leading to the inevitable fall of emotions and tears
watching you walk away in sorrow and loneliness.
Over the years, I watched you find yourself, taking every hard path you could, finally seeing how wonderful and strong you are and strong you have become.
As I age, I find it difficult to look back at memories, my sons . . .
now seeing you become that person who, at times, knows right from wrong.
But through it all . . .
I have found that memories are not necessary anymore.
Love is enough to appreciate you for who you have grown into.
I love you.
 ~
art and poem by Nancy L. Young-Houser 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How Dogs in Politics Got Started

The Game