Mom has been living in an Alzheimer's care facility for the past three years. My sisters and I juggled her care for nearly a decade prior to making the difficult decision that her growing needs were outweighing our best-intentioned capabilities. I'm watching her slow and steady decline as this gut-wrenching disease continues to consume more and more of who she is. I struggle making the 75+ minute drive to visit her as I witness that my being there has very little impact on her anymore, yet it impacts me greatly.
Like many women of her generation she was a stay at home mom. But Mom wrote poetry. Prolifically. I have six volumes of her self-published work. Whenever I am feeling the deep pangs of losing her while she is still physically present, I pull out one of her books to remember. This morning the first page I turned to contained a poem which I'm sure was written about her volatile relationship with my father. I've gotten to understand my mother as a person through her own words. And they bring me back to who she was before the disease. Mom no longer recognizes her own written words. I brought one of her books with me on my last visit. She doesn't remember being a writer. But I remember...
WORDS
Flung thru a lowered window,
A voice made flat and colorless
by the effort to control it.
RECOIL
Drooped shoulders and bowed head.
Then, the quick shudder-
as from the sting of a lash.
TEARS
Pools of pain; glistening quickly,
brightly. Strength ebbing with
their sudden falling.
CONTROL
A desperate effort and achieved firmness.
Hurt nearly hidden
by the thoughtful directions.
WITNESS
Love- wordless but understanding.
The only balm for your wrenched
and sobbing heart.
*images are my own and from bing.com
TIP:
Enter the amount, and click "Tip" to submit!
Kenneth Sibbett
Olga Stathi
SpiritManSF
OS Readers' Picks
Andrea Higbie
Jacob Sugarman
Salon.com
Comments
sigh,
rated with hugs
It's hard to watch our mother's disappear, but I'm positive that on some level she knows you're there. At some point maybe a smile, or a word. My mother, in the middle of gibberish, once told my brother she was glad he was happy, then went right back to the gibberish. It's almost like their "real self" is being held prisoner in their brain & every once in awhile breaks out just long enough to send a message.
This is beautifully written -- your own words, & your mother's poetry. She obviously passed her gift on to her daughter.
@Suzie, yes - I see and hear the same thing from my father. Gibberish, then a very clear few words completely appropriate to the moment, and *blink*, the curtain drops back down and it's gibberish again.
her words
full of pain
full of love
rated with love
As wrenching as your current circumstance is, it is incredible that you have the gift and legacy of these words that you will also be able to pass along for future generations.
You're mother's writing is deep and worth posting.
blinddream: I'm glad you think so. She has many more wonderful poems to share.
femme: That line got me too.
dianaani: I agree.
xenonlit: I appreciate it.
zanelle: I'm sorry you have to shoulder your burden alone. That makes it all the more difficult.
In some ways I'm grateful she left before she didn't know us or completely lost the plot.
We still treasure the wonderful and witty poems and anecdotes she wrote in her earlier years.
I know things won't improve, but I wish you the strength and faith to get through this.
Just Cathy: I'd so love to talk to her about her poems, but it's beyond her now.
Sheila: I know so many of us are caring for agin parents. It's a rough road.
Linda: Thank you. I appreciate your kind words and sharing your story.