The Best Gift

Thank you, Mother, for your gift to me
sixty-one years ago
on December 24.

I know that it hasn’t been easy,
for either of us in those years;
I’m stubborn,
I take after father in my actions,
but I look like you.

Now that our positions are reversed,
now that I’m taking care of you,
as best I can,
with all the worries you had when I was growing up.

You raised my siblings and me
without a man in the house
after the divorce.

You worried about food,
about clothing,
about paying bills,
now I worry about our debts,
about medical co-pays,
about clothing,
about food
and about you.

At eighty-six, you are as independent
as you’ve always been
and I am the same in many ways
plus the stubborn streak that was dad’s gift to me.

Thank you, Mama, for giving birth to me,
for raising me unselfishly
on a waitresses tips and pay check.

Now it is my turn,
to find the means to keep us together,
to pay the bills,
and the only things you ask of me
are the smile and positive attitude I had
before you went into the hospital
and returned home
to recover.