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Mum

Anonymous

Poetry
For sixty years she cared for me.

No questions asked – as it should be,

Unconditional, emotional, physical care –

Her bundle of joy, her burden to bear.

Then April the first two thousand and four,

Fortune’s fool found mum on the floor.

“A stroke you say? What does this mean?”

Mother and son – forced into a team.

Six months pass – a love gone numb,

A guilt like no other, to hate your own mum.

Whole Person Care – Year One