She spat, she swore she fumed on me,
This little old lady of seventy three,
She called me bad and ugly as sin,
She said all this with a comfortable grin,
Her contempt for me was clear as day,
I asked her why she felt this way,
She tore my top and scratched my cheek,
Pulled my hair and cried “you freak”,
I took all this with no attitude,
Her language so vile and manner so rude,
I could do nothing but offer love,
That was rebuked with a cold shove,
Her eyes they burned into my face,
As I enveloped her with a warm embrace,
She yelled she kicked and punched my chest,
I tried to calm her, I did my best,
I had to call for the nurse at the end,
But a broken heart she could not mend,
She helped my mam back into bed,
And gave her pills to sooth her head,
After a while I recognised again,
The mother I love, in no more pain,
My father arrived with the moon,
They danced together across the room,
They didn’t notice me in the chair,
But to tell you the truth I didn’t care,
I was at ease with their meeting again,
I sighed and whispered no more pain,
Alzheimer’s is a wicked disease,
It’s brought our family to its knees,
We watched our mam slipping away,
Forgetting her life’s worth every day,
It’s only the love that keeps you strong,
And the memories of where we belong,
Heartbroken now but I feel at rest,
Coz I love you mam you are the best.

Christina Ford