He looked into her sleeping face; lines marked it as the years took their toll. Gone now the bustling young woman, gone now the alert mind of one who has life at her fingertips. Now he sees the shell of the person he calls mother, her world is the chair wherein she sits. Her locomotion comes from the aid of a metal frame, and this can only be measured in yards. No more the long walks on the fells, no more the independence. Instead the loss of dignity. How cruel is life to take a spirit from infancy through life, only to return it to infancy again. When as a child one cares not that one is cleaned and bathed by others, but to have to suffer this as an adult is tragic. More so with the sure and certain knowledge that this is the state of things until your passing. He sees her body stir, dull eyes now opening, a smile and look of recognition. She still remembers him, even though she cannot recall how old he is. Her right leg begins to tremble, an involuntary movement. This was a thing to make light of some years ago when it first started, he can hardly make light of it now. She moves forward in the chair giving full view to her twisted shoulders and hunched back. He can only feel pity for the woman that bore him, he cries inside for he can do nothing to ease her journey. For this is one voyage that we must all face alone.