My Mother's Image in the Mirror

In a mirror I view two images, my mothers and my own.

Each seems to blur into one as I grow closer to the age when I lost her.

Is it because of my need to never forget her face that I view her in me?

Is it because I reach out still longing to touch her gentle passive face?

I view my mother in the mirror when I rise and before I slumber.

I rise to say hello, offer a smile, share a comedic word or two.

At slumber I chastise her over past mistakes or agree with her words of wisdom.

I mention I often reach for the phone to call her before I suddenly remember.

My mother in the mirror stares back at me with a solemn expression.

I view her silent words of regret, her agony and her tortured love.

I view her anguish towards her daughter's or her grandchildren's remorse.

I view her torment towards years that vanished by her so quickly.

When I view my mother in the mirror I also see an understanding.

I smirk realizing she's now laughing at my own mistakes.

I grin knowing her word, "payback," can finally be defined.

I beam knowing she'd say I lived my life so right.

I see my mother in the mirror though my image stands in front.

Her image will always be viewed through my eyes, forever etched in my heart.

One day I can only imagine what my own children will view.

Will my image have an imprint on them as much as my mother has had on me?