She used to get up at 6:00 am every morning,
Sometimes earlier if she couldn’t sleep.
She’d make her bed,
Start a load of laundry,
Shower.
Then she’d make her own breakfast –
The same fare every morning of the world –
And watch the early news.
She was always afraid she might miss some event.
She never skipped a beat.

These days, she’d rather sleep until 9.
Must be something about getting old,
Being able to do less and less for herself,
And feeling as if she has so little to do
That sleeping is as about as good as
Her day is going to get.

She still watches the news,
The 9 am edition.
She can still take herself to the bathroom,
And bring her fork to her own lips,
But that’s about it.
No, wait, she’s able to
Unwrap her own sugar-free candy too.

I wear the task-master tag these days,
Knowing that for every task I take on,
Her functionality slips more away
Along with her will to get up at all.
So I am loathe to deprive her of her freedom,
Cracking the verbal whip
While I hold her gait belt,
Willing her legs to keep her moving,
Even though she swears that one of these days,
She’s not going to even be able to
Make it down the hall to her chair.

I don’t even need my alarm anymore,
Getting up at 6 am,
Earlier if I wasn’t able to sleep.
I make the bed,
Start the coffee
Log-on to my computer,
And wait for 9 to get here.

10/26/2008

Author's Note: As her ability to do for herself decreases, my own routine increases. Even though I am blessed to do it, watching her decline is a painstaking process.

Posted on 10/26/2008
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie