Widow Sims

She was an old lady, widowed for years long. Mrs. Sims was her name, lived a block away. She was alone, her three children were gone. Never a caring word did she hear them say. I was busy, a young man trying for the top. Board meetings, audits, trips—much to do. Those were priorities, taking time nonstop. Mrs. Sims didn’t matter in that world I knew. At my wife’s urging, we went to the viewing. One look at her face remodeled my mind. She echoed Mother, which was my undoing. In an instant, tears of regret my eyes affined. I thought of how in her sundowning hours Mother was surrounded by dear caring ones. But Mrs. Sims received no love, no flowers. Not from her daughter, nor from her sons. In her passing that widow lady taught me Mothers matter more than earthly acclaim. Now I seek the old lonely wherever they be Lest for being uncaring I’m worthy of blame. It’s easy to set aside the old and the used, Supposing they have nothing left to give. But that mindset must sternly be refused: They can teach us the Christ-like way to live.