The Waiting Room
There comes a time,
If you live long enough,
When you may find yourself
In that last waiting room.
One day it’s necessary
To give up life as you know it
And leave it behind
To move somewhere else,
Somewhere simpler with more help.
What to do with all the books
You have read over the years,
That are like old friends?
Who will get the family silver
Or should it just be sold?
What about the table linens,
The chest of quilts made by
Your great grandmother,
And all the family photographs?
There are boxes of souvenirs
And albums from trips,
Cookie tins for all the cookies
You made at Christmas,
Dishes and glassware and
The corner china closet.
But most of all, all of your life
Is in this place called home.
Your neighbors and friends,
As close to you as family,
Who stop by on the wide porch
For a drink on a hot day.
People always there with a smile,
A helping hand, a casserole,
A comforting, listening ear.
Your church, the small town
Grocery store and post office,
The open spaces, trees, and
Parks and the sandy beaches.
You leave your whole life behind
And move to a lovely new
Apartment in a spacious building
With other lovely new apartments,
And you make the best of it
Because, after all, you have a choice.
You can choose to be miserable,
Or you can choose to be happy,
Even if you feel that you have moved
To that last waiting room.
Copyright © Barbara Peckham | Year Posted 2021
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