Teardrops well
In her pale, blue eyes
She was going to tell
Us stories
Of when she was a girl
And a youthful sparkle returns
From a tender world
As she recalls that day
For a brief, splendid moment
Before it slips away
And she grasps vainly
For memories; Fading,
behind her eyes…
…little bits of colored ribbon
Floating to the skies
Janet~
So sad. This is such a cruel disease.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful poem, Janet.
It is so very cruel!
ReplyDeleteThank-you for your words.
Wow! You've really done a beautiful job with this piece.
ReplyDeleteMy father died a few years ago with Parkinson's and dementia. I can really relate to this.
I would be pleased if you'd have a read of this related poem:
http://poetikat-km.blogspot.com/2010/07/sleeping-at-back-of-bus-in-dementia.html
(I see from your journal that you're an old-movie lover. We have a few things in common then!)
This is very sad. I have a friend with a husband with early Alzheimers. It is horrible for both of them, but I think even WORSE for my friend....as she KNOWS!
ReplyDeleteKat, I just read it! You nail it exactly! Tears.
ReplyDeleteMary, there are few diseases more cruel than this one. There really are no words to capture its devastation but Kat has written in a way that only first-hand experience can...see above link.
I've known a few ladies who at the beginning would become so frustrated as they began to tell something that slipped away in an instant!,,,and they were aware of what was happening.
My Grandma, Helen, was such a sweet woman. It was torture for us all to watch her slip away because of this horrible disease. The look in her eyes said it all... utter sadness. She didn't say much toward the end, but there were moments, as you described, where she'd start smiling, and try to tell us something... and then she'd fade away again.
ReplyDeleteOh, and she had pale blue eyes...
Thank you for bringing my Grandma in to my thoughts today ~ only, I'll think of the happier times...
Yes...my Grandpa too. But the one thing he retained was his wry sense of humor. I lived with my Grandmother the last winter of his life just so there would be someone else in the house at night and I remember laughing with her over things he said in frustration, which still made crazy sense. So many times though, she would look at me depending what he said, with tears in her eyes and she would remind me 'this is not him talking, it's the disease'. Oh it is cruel. Yes we cling to who they were in health. I remember Grandpa telling my Dad, 'there's something happening, and I am unable to stop it'. It is so hard.
ReplyDelete