A moment of gratitude - Bill Denham

[Larry Robinson]

A moment of gratitude
 
Her body, diminished,
            from the Parkinson’s,
she rose from the couch
unsteady on her feet,
stretched out her arms,
her hands trembling, slightly.
 
Joanne, her first born daughter,
            inquired if she wanted her walker.
            June did not reply
            but moved ever so slightly
            toward her daughter,
            who rose from her chair
            took the few steps
            between them —
            hesitated . . . inquired,
            “Should I put on my mask?”
            before relaxing and welcoming
            the embrace of her mother —
            her biological mother,
            for all those decades ago
            June had given her daughter up,
            for adoption.
 
They embraced, warmly,
            arms wrapped around each other,
            holding each other close,
            June burying her head
            on her daughter’s breast.
            And then it was over,
            this moment of closeness,
            of connection, of gratitude,
            of celebration of all that each
            had given to the other —
            this fifty-four-year-old daughter
            having crossed the continent,
            with Tom, her husband of twenty-seven years,
            to come visit her eighty-year-old mother,
            the one who had carried her
            and brought her into this world.

	- Bill Denham