“The Day My Children Began Taking Care of Me”
—I once bent low to tie your shoes,
steadying tiny feet that stumbled and grew.
I held your hand across busy streets,
wiped the tears from small scraped knees.
I spooned the broth when you were ill,
sat by your bed until you lay still.
I read the books with voices and songs,
I was the strength when the nights felt long.
But now the years have turned the page,
silver hair marks the quiet of age.
And it is you who steadies me,
when my steps falter and I can’t see.
You remind me to take my pills on time,
to drink the water, to walk the line.
You carry the bags I can’t bear alone,
you drive me places once I had known.
There’s a humility in this tender exchange—
to need your child, the roles rearranged.
But it isn’t weakness, it isn’t defeat,
it’s love completing what makes us complete.
For once I bent low, and now you bend too,
but not out of burden—out of love true.
The circle of care is holy, profound,
a legacy woven, where grace is found.
I see your hands—strong, yet kind—
and remember when they were small in mine.
I whispered then, “I’ll always be here,”
and now, in your care, those words reappear.
So let it be sacred, this changing of roles,
a testament of love that quietly unfolds.
For when the child becomes the guide,
we see the fullness of life—side by side.
And though it humbles me to lean on you,
I see God’s mercy shining through.
That He would grant me the years to see
the full circle of love between you and me.