Today at d’Verse, Mish asked us to write a Quadrille of 44 words using some form of the word sketch. I wrote about my father-in-law who had Alzheimer’s and passed in 2018.
If you have young children or grandchildren, you might enjoy my book, “Grandpa Has Holes in His Head” on Amazon Kindle.
How does one transition from reality to faded memories
from a sharp intuitive mind to one lost in space?
When loved ones fade away, losing their grasp on life,
it seems so cruel to watch them lose touch
as memories dim like dying batteries in a flashlight.
What must it feel like to know that little by little your mind
is shrinking like a mushroom in the hot afternoon sun?
The agony of no longer knowing your friends
your family…. even your spouse
must be unbearable as one grasps for a name to go with a face.
As mind’s darkness closes in, the transition into denial and loneliness
clouds the eyes and numb memory shuts down…
but the body goes on living.
We say, “It really is good that he does not know at this point.”
But does he? And… is it?
***
Today at d’Verse, Merril gave us the prompt, Transition. There are many ways to go with this one, but I chose to reflect again on the way Alzheimer’s affects so many people as they age. So many questions and few answers. My father-in-law pictured above went through several transitions as his Alzheimer’s progressed. It was very sad to see. Early on he asked questions, but as time went on he became more resigned to his plight.
And his love for designs that were brazen and bold
*
He raised a family and had five children
Loved them dearly and wished for a dozen
As time went on he became a proud grandpa
To twelve little munchkins who loved their Pa Pa
*
From time to time he became forgetful
Couldn’t remember names always regretful
It soon became apparent it was his dementia
But the grandchildren didn’t care about Pa Pa’s absencia
*
Time finally came when he reverted back to childhood
With stories and tales of once being Robin Hood
But on Saturday morning with kids in the room
Now as a child he loves watching cartoons
Today at d’Verse Peter, asked us to write a circle poem that begins where it ends and ends where it begins. Last week I commented to my wife that when I grow old I am going to enjoy watching cartoons again! This led me to the poem I wrote today. All of us are affected in some way by people who suffer from Alzheimer’s or dementia. It often takes away present memories, leaving only memories of past days or childhood. So, as you see we come full circle in our life at times.
Today at d’Verse, Mish asked us to choose an object, that means something special to us, and write a poem beginning with the line… “This is not a _________” Eight years ago we flew to Edmonton, AB to make care arrangements for both of my wife’s parents. Her mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor and her father was suffering from Alzheimer’s. It was a traumatic time for all of us. When we finally returned home the end of January, I poured my emotions into this painting depicting their life in Alberta. To me, this is much more than a painting. It is a piece of family history!
“Helen, where are you! When are you coming home. I miss you, please…let me know when you return. I will be down in Bruce’s room watching Wheel of Fortune.”
Paul wrote these notes carefully and neatly on the back of the napkin he brought back from the dinning room. His mind smoky, his focus clouded, he thought to himself, “Reading what I have just written, I now believe she may be gone for good.” His mind soon clouded again as he leaned back in his recliner.
In the time since he moved into his new apartment, he had not seen his wife Helen. He could not imagine where she might be. She might come through the door at any time. Day after day he waited and wondered. He left notes for her, in case she returned, while he was out, but to no avail.
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Today at d’verse, Lillian is guiding our Prosery. Prosery is where we take a given line from a poem and incorporate that line into a prose piece of only 144 words. Today she asked us to include the line: “Reading what I have just written, I now believe” taken from Louise Gluck’s Faithful and Virtuous Night and her poem Afterwards.
I decided to write my piece about the emotions and feelings of one with Alzheimer’s disease. Eight years ago my father-in-law had to be confined to a care facility in the weeks following Christmas. Although he seemed to adjust well to his new environment, not being with his wife was very traumatic for him. This is a glimpse of that time. Although we took him to see her, he did not remember after he was back at his residence.
Today on NPR I listened to a discussion that centered around Thanksgiving. The commentator said that back in 1970, the descendants of the Mayflower arrival in 1620. planned a 350 year celebration. It was to include that first year, when they were said to have celebrated the first Thanksgiving in America, along with the local Native Americans.
A descendant of the Indian tribe, Wampanoag leaderWamsutta, was asked to speak at the ceremony. They asked that he give them a copy of his speech prior to giving it. When they read his speech, they said he could not say what he had written about the following atrocities and massacres that occurred years later. He refused to edit his speech to a more positive tone and instead, with the help of the tribes of New England, started a National Day of Mourning for Native Americans, that continues to this day, on Thanksgiving Day. It doesn’t get much press, if any.
With all the turmoil over Confederate Statues coming down and being moved, one needs to also think of what was done to Native Americans who lived where we live now!
Comfort blinds the eyes
Thankful that we don’t remember
those who were slaughtered
Thankful for all that we have
Memory loss keeps us silent
*
Comfort blinds our eyes
Memory loss keeps us silent
Our “God given rights”
Guns still sit in our closets
Should anyone come calling
I should say, I am very Thankful for the blessings of life, faith, liberty, and family. But the dark side still haunts me!
My father-in-law. who had Alzheimer’s, was confined several years ago after his wife was diagnosed with a brain tumor. This all took place within a month and a half. Initially we took him to visit her in her care facility across the city; but. he forgot he saw her by the time he got back to his residence.
It was very difficult for him that first year and after she passed away. When we went to visit we found notes written on his dinner napkins asking where she was and why she did not come back. It was heartbreaking to read his pleas for answers. Although we explained everything to him it was not long till he again asked the same questions. The note writing stopped after about a year. He seemed to be resigned that he was there by himself and only asked about her on occasion. He was there for five years and died in 2018.
In the winter of life the fog sets in
obscuring the obvious and familiar
Leaving one to memories past;
today’s events already forgotten.
A perspective very different
from yours and mine;
Time stands still …
like looking in a mirror to the past;
Closing the windows of the present.
Anxieties not understood
plague the mind and thoughts.
Looking for a spouse long gone;
Expecting to see her any moment;
Wondering where she is
and when she will return.
Distraught to the point of resignation
the fog becomes more intense.
Time slows down as the hour glass trickles
until finally // the top glass is empty.
This beautifully haunting song by Kathy Mattea helps bring the sadness of this disease into perspective.
Age does disturbing things to some minds. Alzheimer’s disease leaves many feeling like their memories are only scattered pieces. Life no longer makes sense, as short-term memory disappears. Stress levels increase and shut down. Confinement can become necessary to protect the person from wandering off or putting themselves in harm’s way. Some still remember the distant past and days of childhood. Happy and traumatic events from the past get repeated over and over again. Questions to visitors are repeated over and over again as well. It is very sad to see a person deteriorate in this way.
Aging rusts the soul
Life scattered like lights and doors
Falling leaves hide rust
*
This is an abridged version of my poem, Black Holes in the Brain, showing the effects of Alzhiemer’s disease on a person. During the stressful transition from independent living to confined living the confusion for my father-in-law was greatly increased. I posted his Wandering/Wonderings earlier this week.
Bjorn from d’Verse~Poets Pub asked us to consider the use of punctuation in poetry. It helps shoe line breaks and increases flow for the reader. This one is full of punctuation. It was written four years ago after working through this difficult transition.
Black Holes In My Brain
“I have come to discover that I now have black holes in my brain.
Spaces of emptiness that never get filled.
Like the holes in my pants pocket the memories slip out…”
“Oh, you are here? Well I didn’t realize! When did you get here?
You have been here a few weeks? Well I didn’t remember.
Tell me something I should know…
What shall we talk about…”
“Can I do something for you… do you need a light on?
Would you like to watch the News if I turn it on?
Do you want me to set the table for breakfast?
Can I help you in some way?
Would you like a piece of chocolate? Go ahead have one!”
“Is this Sunday? Are we going to church today?
Where is Mother & when is she coming home?
She won’t be coming back home? Oh my!
These are things I should remember.
When will we go to see here again? Can we go today?
We were there today?
Why can’t I remember? Were we just there today?!”
“I remember my grandfather was just like this.
He would apologize for his memory all the time.
I hope I never get that way.”
Watching my father-in-law’s mind fade from shades of gray to black evoked a lot of emotion. It became noticeable to my wife and me when we visited her parents in 2009. Driving us across Edmonton to the Science Center, he got mixed up and forgot how to get there. Apparently this happened before, because Mother had written the directions for him on index cards. Later she told us that one day he came out to the parking deck, after volunteering at the hospital and could not find his car. She kept tabs on him until 2012 when she developed a brain tumor.
Giving up his keys and driving privileges it was very hard on him, but the hardest thing for him to understand was when they were in separate care facilities. He would ask about her over and over, and could not quite comprehend what was happening. After she died, he kept expecting her to return. He is now 90 and seems to have adjusted to his confinement, even telling friends who visit that they should try to get a room there as well. He tells them that they take good care of him there.
Roth Poetry 