I watch as he walks slowly to the car.
Back crooked and one leg much shorter.
The years have not been kind to him.
Everything takes such effort
that going out is hard.
But he keeps moving
smiling mostly.
It is hard
being
old.

I was the child but now am the parent.
Weighing all the options and choices.
Walking the fine line of being
helpful, not overbearing,
respecting his wisdom.
There are now mornings
I move slowly.
It is hard
growing
old.

I first posted this poem on January 19, 2013.  Dad was not quite 85 then and time had not been kind to his body.   Over the next 7 years, his strong life force would enable him to survive many things…recovery from a broken leg, the death of a close companion, an endless struggle following a short stay in the hospital.  But then came a global pandemic that proved too much for him.  On Saturday, August 8, 2020, he passed away, 4 days shy of his 92nd birthday.  He will live forever in our hearts.  Rest in peace, Papa.  We love you all the time!