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My parents are getting older, frail, and it scares me.
One minute, I am young, fully reliant on them,
And the next, they rely on me.
The roles reverse in silence, without a warning sound,
I hold their hands the way they once held mine,
Guiding them through the spaces they taught me to navigate.
I see time in their hands, the veins that map a history,
Every gray strand is a story.
The invincible pillars of my childhood now sway,
And I want to prop them up, to freeze the moment,
To shield them from the same inevitabilities
That they once shielded me from.
But how do you carry the weight of love?
When love is knowing you can’t keep them forever?
When love is standing in the doorway,
Watching them leave a room,
Praying they’ll be back again tomorrow?
I feel the ticking clock in my chest,
Every second louder,
Every goodbye tighter,
Because this stage of life is fragile.
Yet, even in the fear, there is grace.
They taught me how to love,
How to care, how to hold on and let go.
And now, as they age and get sick they teach me still:
That love is in the doing,
In the small acts of presence and patience,
In the quiet reassurance of “I’m here.”
So I walk beside them now,
Just as they once walked beside me.
Not knowing how much time we have,
But knowing this moment matters most.
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