Old Age Blues...
One of the hardest things we have to do is grow old. Not because our eyesight may fail us, or wrinkles may appear on once smooth skin. Not even because our bones may crackle or that certain body parts my sag.
But because of all the grief we are collecting. Memories of all those gone before us. Thinking of the times we spent with them and always knowing we were never ready to let them go.
Words left unspoken, advice we would have loved to hear, an inside joke we can no longer share.
Wishing they could see us now, longing to show them our stuff, our children, our partner. Looking for them over our shoulder or out in the crowd where they would have been, cheering us on. Every happy occasion, forever laced in sadness.
The trips to the village that once filled us with so much excitement, now are treacherous journeys as we take a sleeping loved one back home to rest.
This village soil swallows so many, yet it is never satisfied. We will continue feeding it until it is our time.
Growing old stings, it is a constant piercing to the heart. The tears never dry and time becomes a tormentor.
To grow old is to grieve constantly. With every smile, with every breath and even when you dance. Grief is your constant companion.
~Wailings of Felgonah