Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                         She Walks Between Worlds

                                             Stage 2 Alzheimer’s

She walked into our house for lunch today
The puppy gamboled at her feet in welcome
And was treated to doggie-kisses and doggie-hugs
She loves the dog
                                    She is no longer sure about us

glass jars aren't safe anymore so we'll throw them all away

forgetting the words for that thing
in that place
that keeps everything cold

chips but they aren't chips
the see through white cereal
that place we went where they had the big and little things

watching her blink, and wonder what will disappear next

the softest bits of brain hardening
turning black, burning
ash separating and slowly floating up

found deep in the woods by vultures circling above

sent from god, they said
god in the form of vultures helped us find her
god is good

"when do you think I'll die?" she asked
"how long do you think I have?"

and I think, who will be my mother

I thought you left me.
Probably thinking I was
too much of a hassle.
You say you left a note,
didn’t see it.

Don’t look at me like that.
Like I’m not me,
like I’m a stranger
wearing my own skin.

You say we’ve had this conversation
three times today.
Well, I guess I just don’t remember.
Doesn’t mean i’m not trying to.

You say I left the stove on.
I say I didn’t.
We both believe we’re right,
but only one of us is losing their mind.

Sometimes I call you by the wrong name—
or ask where Mom is,
and you go quiet,
because we buried her last fall—
please forgive me..

This cruel disease
doesn’t just erase memories.
It erodes trust,
ruins families,
breaks everything…

The woman, a nest of grey,
Takes you down to Chelsea Bay.

She stories you, and every time,
Mentions her garden, offers a lime.

A pile of words, so interspersed,
Grows so large, she loses sight of the first.

You scale the sentences, smile in hand,
Laughter, reveals, accusals grand.

She tells you, think differently, make circles of these lines
Use all the pieces of this fruity life, don’t dare discard the rind.

If minds had hands, as pontificate in tandem,
you’d hold hers steady, sliding addendum to addendum.

Then, saying goodbye, she extends once more a lime.
Forgetting, all too quickly, you’d already declined.

I watched her become numb.
I watched as nothing reached
past the fog surrounding her mind.

The constant disconnect between her and everything around her scared me.
When she stopped smiling with her eyes, it scared me.
When she became unrecognizable, it scared me.

Her death was a surprise to no one.
But it was a relief to some.
She had been a bright light in so many lives.
Her radiance and color were unlike anyone else.
Watching it dull into gray fog made us feel
like the whole world was losing color.

The funeral was as solemn as her last few months had been.
Not everyone had seen her descent into dullness.
Her dementia-muddled mind was uninterested
in the friends and family who did come to see her.

She lived as a dear friend to me and many others,
but she died a stranger to all. May she rest in color,
and may the people she left behind always remember
her vibrant life.

I love her, but her mind grows weak.
The doctors say she may have a month, maybe a week.
Together, we tell stories. Me, more than her.
The ones that we laugh at and half remember.
I don’t know what I’ll do the day that she dies.
“Together forever” really meant the rest of our lives.
I hope I’ll see her in the great everafter.
But until then, I sit with her and treasure her laughter.

It doesn’t matter how many times people say you did your best,
They never truly know the truth of the situation.
Only you know just how much you weren’t there for mum
In her hours of need.

Dementia is a cruel fate,
And even crueler when living with a narcissist
Who deliberately causes a rift in the family.
Does the guilt ever go away
For those left behind?

thoughts once so clear
now flee en mass like
small birds scattering in the wind...
try to capture one
and it fades to dust in my
trembling hand
my eyes teared up by the loss...
what was her name...
when was it I smiled like the
sun bursting through the clouds on that day...
where did I misplace that long-sought device...
where have all my yesterdays gone...
all escapes along the shifting winds of age
small beautiful birds
plumage so bright and beautiful to behold
loves and laughter, days of wonder and joy
crumble into dust as my forgetful fingers
pry at their edges, trying to recall...
her yesterday was my forever
do you think she remembers me? ...
as I slip into forgetfulness
I hope that I will no longer remember
to mourn my forgotten yesterdays...
age is coming for me
and iv forgotten how to tame that ugly beast