Pit pat, pit pat, pit pat down the hall he goes

I have already tripled the distance he has gone

I slow my steps so he can catch up, trying to hold my impatience

It's not his fault he's going so slowly, he's going to be 90 this year

Still I seem to be losing my patience at a rapid pace lately.

Why cant he see, I'm in a hurry

Pit pat, pit pat, pit pat we're still halfway down the hall from the elevator.

The the other residents at the retirement home go zooming by us with their walkers

Yet he refuses to give up his cane for the more practical choice, the safe choice.

I sigh as these thoughts go through my head

I check my watch for the time.

Why can't he see, I have other places to go

We get dinner and start eating, I know I will finish at least 15 minutes before he does

I mentally shrug the extra 15 minutes away by pulling out my phone

When did I get like this? Letting technology have a place at the dinner table

My smartphone fuels my impatience, giving me an out from having to yell across the table

He forgot his hearing aids again.

Why can't he see, I'm tired

We start the evening routine

Pajamas, medicine, prayers, breathing machine

Why must this take so long?

As I leave I see fresh flowers in the hall

I stop to read the card, "In Memory of my Dear Grandpa"

Why haven't I been able to see

It's not him that needs to change

It's me