A Birthday Remembrance

A Birthday Remembrance

(Written April 8, 2013 in honor of my mother)

By Denise Kalin Tackett

 I visited two graveyards today.

I was thinking of the women in my family.
Theresa Ann, born March, 1950 and died at two weeks.

Delores May, born April, 1931 and died at seventy-nine.

Mother and daughter buried in separate graveyards,
three miles apart.

There are three women in my immediate family –

a devoted mother I knew for fifty-seven years,
a beloved daughter at the height of her youth
and determined to move away,
and an older sister I didn’t know at all.

Today, I think of the possibilities that are not to be:

Growing up with a sister to help blunt the blow

of all the masculinity of four brothers,
to pave the way with our parents,
to shoulder some of the weight of family.

A mother who lived to very old age,

a confidant, an advisor, a friend,
someone I could take care of,
who would finally let down her guard,
and let me be the strong one.

Spending days with my daughter,

fully grown and finally educated,
living nearby with her own family.
Friends at last, without having to be a role model,
but a friend who knows her better than any living soul.

If none of this can happen,
I must think on the future that could be.

I want to spend my remaining years,
playing the role of quirky, lovable family matriarch.
With a heart that holds both aching memories
and the joyful potential for the future.