Recognition

Heritage Woods

“You can’t miss her.  She’s the white-haired one.”

Really?  Look around.

Where my mother lives,

they all have white hair.

“And she has trouble getting around.”

Really?

They need a parking attendant

for all of the metal ambulators around here.

 

Sylvia laughed aloud at the mother-daughter banter.

She has white hair.

And a rose-colored rolling assistive device.

Her eyes twinkle with mischief.  They are young eyes.

I would recognize her anywhere.

 

Mildred rolled over.

Her hair is white.

Her everyday transportation support is red.

She put drops in my mother’s eyes.

Her nurse’s eyes shine with caring.

They are wise eyes.

I would recognize her anywhere.

 

Eileen drove up.  She perched on the seat of her walker.

“We miss Pat, don’t we?”

Pat died last month.

Eileen’s best friend.

She had hopes unchecked on her bucket list.

But her heart was too large.  How can that be?

She is gone now.

I miss Pat too.

Eileen has white hair.

Her eyes are full of remembering.

And love.

And missing.

Mine too.

We would recognize each other anywhere.

 

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