Deep within that hollow stare,
of our presence they're unaware.
A life that is fading away,
in spite of things we try to convey.
Memories locked up in their mind,
and there they're kept all confined.
Good times spent long ago,
and all their love they did bestow.
For these moments will live forever,
Seeing them lying there we know why,
Dementia is called the long goodbye.
The cards, we hoped, would serve as something of a memory jog. We asked staff for some string and were granted our wish, meaning we could hang them as you might (and indeed, we might do) Christmas cards. She seemed happy enough.
Whatever that means. It is, I think, perhaps easier to get angry than feel the sadness that this sorry situation entails. And I have been furious.
I'm angry that I've lost her: I've lost my mother. What I'm left with is a shell. And one I don't yet know how to relate to.
Over lunch I looked at her, quizzically. So much about her is hard to recognise. And when I catch a glimpse, it's gone too fast. She fades, before vanishing.
I couldn't taste my lunch. I chewed, but felt nothing as I swallowed. This illness is extremely unpalatable.
The party we had planned together months ago with considerable alacrity was cancelled without apology. This was, without question, the right thing to do. So very little on this steep, narrow, twisting path seems clear - but this was. On her big day, the birthday girl required prompting, despite being surrounded by cards and flowers, and later cake.
To acknowledge the depth of loss I feel just now feels overpowering. I fear the current might pull me under. I'm learning to swim.
I thought of you today,
but that is nothing new.
I thought about you yesterday
and days before that too.
I think of you in silence,
I often speak your name.
All I have are memories and
your picture in a frame.
Your memory is a keepsake
from which I'll never part.
Whilst conversation may now be difficult
I hold you always in my heart.
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