She pulled him close and peered into his face,
her aged eyes reduced to tunnel vision.
"Oh, it's you," she cried,
her arms reaching for an embrace.
He asked her to join him for lunch.
He never went there to eat.
She went there daily.
Instantly she started to talk.
Not the sometimes talk of the elderly
about aches and pains,
grown children's accomplishments,
or even the weather.
Her story poured forth
like a dam about to burst its seams.
How eight years ago at the age of 80,
she began the journey of inner healing.
She touched his arm
and told of digging deep,
How her adult children were more comfortable
with the broken, anxiety ridden mother
she had been for 80 years
than with her freedom
to talk about the harsh reality
of their collective past
and her softening reality of today.
She didn't blame them one bit.
No guile in her voice.
They have their journey,
Memories etched deeply on her face,
her body relaxed as she shared
about making connections between
her Father's generations and her own.
Redeeming that which was done without malice,
yet had inflicted pain nonetheless.
Graced with the the courage to face
her demons at age 80,
she knew it was a gift
to see with so much more than
(True story.Happened today.)