What Happens When It is My Turn?
Having turned fifty-seven this week;
Hope of retirement in eight years seems bleak.
Thinking of losing my income somehow;
Is much too scary to think of just now.
To think of not having two jobs but just one
Is a dream a long time in my future to come.
For if I step down from my duties to care
Who would assume the role that I bear?
Who would be there to scratch his frequent itch?
Or to set up the peddler when his leg starts to twitch?
Who would see to the wheelchair repair?
Or challenge him to try more with a dare?
Who would step in if I were unable
To lift him and move him and keep his life stable?
Though others would care and want to help out
Their lives and commitments prevent taking that route.
Too expensive would it be for paid help all the day
Allowing the luxury at my office to stay.
So I keep doing both, handling work and giving care
While I wonder how long this work load can I bear?
What happens to me when it’s my turn to hurt?
Or need care or support or some medical expert?
I know that my children will want to give help
But they already have huge workloads themselves.
Though Lynn would like to meet all my needs
His own limitations he knows he must heed.
If it is necessary that I be placed in a home
Who would keep Lynn from being alone?
What will happen to us when no more we can live
On our own in our home with nothing to give?
Many years I do hope that I have left to plan
How to deal with these questions the best that I can.
Till then I continue to work night and day
Hoping that my turn is still far away.
Do you ever swear you smell smoke or cigarettes but there's nothing there?