Kyla
By: Lynne Schmidt
My mother watches my girl
unfurl from the couch and move haphazardly
to the bedroom.
She’s slowing down, my mother comments, eyes thick
with store bought sadness.
It’s true –
her once lively step is halted and uncoordinated,
the fur that frames her face is grey and white.
her eyes have become milky pools.
She is slowing down, I confirm.
But I have had to let go of a dog
whose life gave out before
his body.
And this – watching her age – watching
her slow, taking more measured steps,
having to help her on the couch, into bed, in the car as
she can no longer twist her hips
to jostle her forward,
is something we don’t always get to experience.
This I tell my mother, This isn’t sad, this is a gift, a privilege.
Getting to watch her go from mountain hiking, tennis ball chasing youth,
to aged walks more pee breaks to the eventual still and
final rest.