The first person I ever truly mothered was my own mum. <br /> <br />The earth-shattering, numbing truth that those life-givers, <br />sustainers and maintainers of our infant years, <br />those whose strength conquers mountains of anguish, <br />whose knowledge soars above the tempestuous seas, <br />whose love has no limits within human expereince <br />and those whose passion and conviction for you and in you and with you will never be equalled, <br /> <br />standing, one moment, proud, strong, invincible <br /> <br />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. <br /> <br />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. <br />The sobs shake the small body in my arms, <br />the heaving chest does not stop as soon as I would like. <br />Thrown into the abyss of the unknown, I let my grip loosen, <br />afraid of the implications of such a moment. <br />Yet a knowledge, instantaneous and pure, of the path to take <br />crawls from within my bowles. <br />I fall back towards my weeping mother and hold her like I never have before.<br /><br />Claudia Fitzgerald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-title-is-yours-for-the-taking-mum-crying-the-morning-after-grandma-died/
