parents
watching your parents grow old can be scary.
my mother remains beautiful in my eyes, her grey hairs not enough to reassure her but i press on wishing that she sees herself through my eyes.
my father repeats the same story four times in a week, and I still respond each time with the same attention and affection, as if it were the first.
my mother asks if the wrinkles on her face are obvious, if she still looks good in her old jeans, if I can help massage her sometimes swelling feet. i reassure her gently, lovingly. her beauty hasn’t dimmed; if anything, it’s softened and deepened. her body still turns heads i tease, and she laughs in return. lightening the moment.
my father forgets things he never used to, tries to help in ways that sometimes miss the mark. he's been like this since retirement. sitting at home, restless, bored. who can blame him? he does his best to stay busy, but these days, everything feels like a loop. i wish i stayed home more. i wish my sisters didn’t school so far away. i wish we could all be around to keep him company.
evenings are easier. we gather in the living room, laughing at the dirty jokes my father insists on telling, no matter how badly he delivers it. we laugh anyway. i love these moments. i hold on to them.
it’s scary, watching your parents grow old. but i love them with everything i have. and i want to keep watching them grow old.
Remembering my parents are human is still always weird to me