(A poem about Dementia)
There she sits, lost in her memories
Watching dust motes dance in shafts of sunlight,
Her eyes are misted by time and years,
And that secret smile, playing ever so slightly
Across her aged lined lips.
Like an ancient Mona Lisa, it reminds us
There are things we will never know about her,
And the things she has forgotten about herself.
She is lost without her partner, companion through her life,
But she cannot recall where he has gone.
She just remembers that she misses him
And ever wonders why he left her.
What thoughts run through her head now?
What hopes and dreams go unfulfilled?
We cannot help her to remember
What we never took the time to see.
And although we try to reach her,
With our comforting words and love,
It seems she doesn’t listen anymore.
Though she is surrounded by those who love her,
Her ears are tuned to another place and time.
As she quietly slips into a private world
Just out of our reach.
It’s too late for us to cry about those memories,
Or wish we had those yesterdays back.
Those days are gone, as surely
As the passing hours on the clock.
All that’s left for us, is the certainty
That our days are slipping by as well,
And to wonder where our minds will roam
When the dust motes dance for us
In the soon coming twilight of our lives…
For my 88 year old beloved aunt
Steve ..Easy.. Whitacre April 13th 2009