Missed out on many memories
That have been past, down line.
Of six boys in our family
The first two, maybe, third,
Knew grandmas from both parents
Stories just, I heard.
Though have TWO recollections
With my dear mother’s mum
When visiting, at age of three
Sh’enjoyed when we did come.
She lived with mum’s young sister,
The last born of that clan,
I do recall me pulling at
The skin of wrinkled hand,
And as I was-a-playing
With all that aged loose skin
I had a thought, which seemed profound,
Now where do I begin?
I came and stood beside her,
She held her hand, outstretched,
As I was pulling at the skin,
In my mind, this is etched.
“Gran lives with youngest daughter,
In my clan, I’m the last,
So I will have to do the same”
My role, it had been cast.
Many years, then, later,
Dad passed, leaving just mum,
The role played out as I’d foreseen
Mum's carer, I’d become.
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