The Living Breath of Thanksgiving

You were born on Christmas Day, the year I turned 10.
Disappointed when Santa did not bring me the battery operated,
talker and walker Mattel baby doll I asked for,
You, my dear baby sister, quickly became the best present ever.
Up until your arrival, baby doll toys were fine, unattended.
You however, were a twenty four seven package.
When Mama left to work at dawn, returning late in the day exhausted,
I filled in as the mother and nanny and you my teacher for how to look and listen.
Now. . . as I age, you tend to me as the mother watching over her own child.
You cook for me, clean after me and help me with my baths.
When I don’t feel like driving, you take the wheel and warn all passer-byes,
“I am driving precious cargo here, yield and mind your stop signs or else!!”
When you moved into my house, it was a familiar yet uncharted path.
You in your fifties, me in my sixties, we are set in ways and yet we meet the other anew.
When we disagree, we trust the quiet to mend whatever hinders.
The time out we give the other, is our best togetherness there is.
Lately, when you leave the house to tend to your own life’s errands,
You will not say goodbye. Why, I ask on occasion?
“Saying good-bye to each other is a lie.I would rather leave knowing you are with me,
everywhere I go.” In other words, she doesn’t want me to see her cry.
“Like it was in the beginning. . . ” I sigh in agreement, with gratitude,
knowing “parting is such sweet sorrow.” Thank you, I whisper, grateful.
The living breath we share, is our living prayer. And yes,
like all thanks giving remembrances, our words of praise are ever tender.