It’s the cold winter mornings she dislikes the most
As she puts on the kettle and butters the toast.
No ‘lie-ins’ for Susie, it’s always the same,
Day after day again and again.
Her ‘to do’ list gets longer with each passing day,
As she climbs the stairs with her mum breakfast tray.
Propped up in her bed and riddled with pain,
Her mum thanks Susie for breakfast again.
Breakfast over Susie pulls up a chair,
Sits down her mother and brushes her hair.
She helps her to wash and then to get dressed,
As her arthritic hands try to button her dress.
At the top of the stairs Susie asks “Are you ready?”
Knowing her mother was a little unsteady.
Her illness had left her with clots on the brain,
And nerve damage meant she was in constant pain.
Together the stairs they negotiate
And Susie wonders if she’s going to be late.
She settles her mother making sure she’s alright,
Before she decides whats for dinner tonight.
She checks her mums purse for each day as a rule,
Susie goes shopping straight after school.
She hurries to school and runs to her class,
Where her half finished homework she hands in at last.
Then the teacher sighs and shakes his head,
A moment she had come to dread.
“In the ‘real world’ you’ll not get by with half finished work I fear.”
Then ended with his usual; “You must try harder my dear.”
But the ‘real world’ for Susie, was trying to cope, in an uncaring world with to little hope.
In the evening having cooked the meal Susie now washes up.
Her mother stands and chats with her and dries the occasional cup.
They sit and chat and watch TV, and when all is said,
Susie takes her mum upstairs and readies her for bed.
Then Susie goes and has a drink, she’s no friends of her own,
And often as she sits at night she feels so all alone.
She wonders what the future holds that no-one can foresee,
And hopes that perhaps someday someone will care for me.