From A First-Born: A Mother`s Day Tribute
Joe E. Trull
First-born she was from a clan of twelve,
emerging from a Bowl of Dust
on rural Indian plains
once trod by proud nations now dispersed.
Second-mother she was to the
brood of chicks her mother bore.
Yet from that furrowed farm she gazed beyond
the fields of grain toward a better land.
And in that fearsome world of lights and sounds,
a world where milk-maids seldom trod,
she built a life,
and met a man,
and soon her own first-born was cradled in her arms.
While singing lullabies to her child
she promised him a better life-
he too would find a better land.
Yet strange to her this first-born child
claimed to hear another voice-
claimed to see another city distant in the skies.
And so in time he left her land on a quest
to find a place for him long-planned
by distant urges she had scarcely felt.
Oh me," she cried
as she watched him go,
wondering if this Don Quixote knew his way.
He was sure; she was not!
Three decades now have passed.
On her back she lies-
A place she always dreaded.
Totally dependent on others-
to feed her
bathe her
tend her every need.
"Oh me" she uttered with her eyes,
words her numb lips could not frame.
Her first-born came to tend her needs-
the end was near.
He held the dropper to her lips,
What little liquid she could take
was measured in centimeters.
Almost choking,
again she looked into her first-born`s eyes
and without words she spoke
her common commentary,
"Oh me,"
He saw it,
this so wise preacher-son of hers
who wondered in his weaker moments
why the God he worshipped
would not stop the pain-hers or his.
He knew her thoughts
and shared her sense of helplessness.
As he bent down to turn her body,
she shook her head in disbelief.
This Pioneer woman who always had control,
Who shared the burden of her mother`s load,
Who stood so strong and tall beside her husband`s bed,
Who reared her three through desperate times.
She would allow no such dependency!
"Mother," he said,
for nine long months you carried me
inside your womb,
and for years beyond my birth
you held me in your arms."
This first-born by her bed continued,
"So let me now carry you,
lift and turn you in your bed
to ease the pain."
Just for a moment
her eyes agreed
as her lips pursed again those words,
"Oh me."
The body once strong and straight
now lean and limp
was oh so hard to grasp,
and harder still to turn to ease the pain.
He lost his grip-
the sagging flesh fell back to bed.
"Damn" he uttered
under his breath.
She also heard
this expletive her ears could not believe
from this the preacher`s lips.
She laughed!
Not audibly, but obviously-
With her eyes,
Her face,
And with that twisted smile.
She laughed!
And he did too.
Together they shared a final smile
that to this day
brings joy and solace to a first-born`s heart.
A stronger arm soon lifted her
and did not let her go.
Beyond the bed,
beyond the antiseptic halls,
beyond the pain and failing flesh,
beyond the springtime thunderheads
rushing toward Texas.
Nevermore would she need to say,
"Oh me."
For now she smiles and laughs
with others who have learned
with her
that dependency can be liberating.
