Mother

With age comes a certain degree of mellowness to one's character. I begin to understand her better, she and her contributions, working silently at home, having things magically done, her anger and may be sometimes rude words, her behavior, her love , her life.. I begin to understand it all.

And then I close my eyes to fall into peaceful sleep, a sleep disturbed by dreams. I dream that she is gone. I dream of the pain of realization of her worth. I dream of missing her, of missing having done something for her. I wake up in a rush.

And there she is, not smiling, but boiling milk for my morning tea. As she always is...