I wake up, walk into the bathroom, and ponder while looking into the mirror.
My mind starts to wonder, when did I get old?
With decades of wrinkles and my hair powdered gray I have no idea what to say.
Many friends passed due to this slow killer.
Am I the next to go?
My cane is my best pal but it does not whimper any phrases.
Suddenly, I believe there is no purpose here.
My bones are brittle.
My skin is dry.
My memory is shot.
What is the point of all of this?
Then my granddaughter comes crawling in yelling “Mame!, Mame!”
It hits me!
She is my reason and my purpose for my being