I try to imagine, being you,
born in the roaring twenties,
Taking out seams to make clothes fit
during the Great Depression.
Your parents quit school at age 12,
to earn money to help out at home,
They didn’t want you to suffer their fate,
so no matter what,
you felt blessed.
You met my father at age 16,
he was 4 years older than you,
and from that day on,
your life became
whatever it took to advance HIS career.
You never balanced a checkbook,
never worked outside the home,
Your friends were his academic colleagues,
never a friend of your own.
You never advanced past high school,
while he earned a PhD,
No one thought in the “baby boom”
a woman could advance herself.
My father’s career took off
and the poor boy became a Dean,
while you kept house, raised kids, and cleaned,
gave dinner parties on weekends.
But once he died so early,
at 50, was suddenly gone,
His friends dropped you like a hot potato,
and were not there for you.
Your life did not foster within you
a sense of your own strength,
Your life was focused on his success,
and now you were alone.
The next years were all a blur
as you turned to alcohol,
your kids all had to fend for themselves
to make it as they could.
To succeed in your recovery,
as any addict knows,
you have to center on yourself
because you have one goal.
At age 63 you did this,
and never once relapsed,
this, in itself, showed us all
how truly strong you were.
Mothering is never perfect,
neither mine, nor yours,
One thing that I always knew
was that I was deeply loved.
It helps me to imagine
all the things that you went through,
I hope you had enough time
to develop who you were,
Our lives were very different,
but what I learned from you
is a woman can do anything
she sets her own mind to.
I balance my own checkbook,
I work outside the home,
so another thing you taught me
is to have a backup plan.
Mother/Daughter connections
are always complicated,
I also know the Love we share
continues unabated.
cfblack 05-17-2018
Doctor Grandma 