My mom has been deteriorating for the past couple months. She’s currently on hospice. I’ve been her main caregiver. that’s been not only challenging, but instructive. I am learning how far I am from being unselfish and totally dedicated. Here’s a poem that describes one humbling moment: 

Sometimes night conceals.
Sometime it reveals.

Caregiving for a parent is going fine by day,
the spinning top of dressing
		walking
		sitting
		feeding
		medicating
		comforting
proceed without a wobble,
but night is different.

“I need to get up.”
“You did a little while ago.”
“I need to again.” 

I compute my hours of lost sleep,
and, the books unbalanced,
add a sum of distance and discourtesy.

Back in bed, I feel the hard stone
of ego, wanting its ascendency.
I serve,
but I’m yet to be a servant.
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