Twenty years in a blink

I don't even have to close my eyes,
to recall what I looked like twenty years ago;
my mother will always tell me it was nice,
in all fairness, I probably looked so and so.

But if you were to ask me how she looked then,
and how she does now, I see someone tired,
somewhat relieved, but very unfit and uncertain,
having done so much, having run so very hard.

She's taking a bow, tomorrow.
A string of ailments, sacrifices galore, often in vein,
happiness always elusive, depleting resources in tow,
dear mom, you've been nice, time to pass the rein.