Pages of We

These books here on my shelf,
filled with pages of we,
carry pictures of adventures,
when they were devoted to me.

There's one when they were little,
and sat upon my knee,
and another we were dancing,
filled with joy, filled with glee.

Growing older stories told,
proved grander again and again,
and the swelling of pride,
filled me up to no end,

And boxes filled with memories,
trinkets saved from days of past,
sits next to the shelf of pages,
collecting tears on my behalf.

As the ones I loved are gone now,
and them I little see,
some they live in heaven,
and others simply despise me.

I am billed a price so heavy,
for mistakes both true and false
I pay now with the loneliness,
days dragging in methodical loss.

I wonder if I will survive it,
the pain, the regret,
I wonder if they will ever know,
I was their mom,
at my best.....