Too Many Candles to Count ~ prose poem

Too Many Candles to Count

Your birth date just past, I think of how I couldn’t wait just six more hours to share that day with you. I like to think I made that first day a happy one. Those six hours were like nothing, and every candle we blew out together marked a joyous time, your smile one I will never forget. So many candles over fifty-five years. So many smiles you brought to me. I shared my first twenty-two years with you, and you shared your last two years with me. Our roles were reversed, but I would do it again, without a second thought. You chose your role in life. Without that, my life would not be the same.

The 1950s and 1960s were different times. Women’s opportunities were far less broad then they are today. Advances have been made since then, with, hopefully, more in the near future. Given those earlier times, I’m thankful for the role my mother played.

23 thoughts on “Too Many Candles to Count ~ prose poem

  1. Something I can only imagine… when a birth mother dies young.
    But I can relate to all the women who became mothers adopting the children of the men they chose to live with (especially when they could not have children of their own).

    A beautiful tribute.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sorry to hear your mother died so young. I’m glad she left you with so many gifts anyway. You seem quite gifted.

    My father died young, too. I never really knew him, but he was an artist. He successfully specialized in oil portraits. When I took up painting seven years ago, I quickly discovered I enjoyed portrait painting the most. Possibly, an inheritance.

    Liked by 1 person

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