When today is all red
but yesterday was full green
-remember, we’re all in this together
When you feel your belly wriggle
due to their infectious giggle
-know that there’s sugar with the spice
If you are doing three
transfers in fifteen minutes
-remember, we’re all in this together
If you feel the garden hose spray
of their amazing joy-full day
-know that there’s sugar with the spice
At times when the top of the first
feels like the bottom of the ninth
-remember, we’re all in this together
At dawn of Thursday’s Eve
as you feel a week’s worries start to leave
-know that there’s sugar with the spice
When the bus has not arrived
but your patience has departed
-remember, we are all in this together
When success smells like sweet grass
freshly cut, or a masterful CLP class
-know that there’s sugar with the spice
Should the day’s turmoil find you throwing
your bowling ball down the wrong lane
-remember, we’re all in this together
Should you feel your day’s ride’s
Slick with joy like a waterslide
-know there’s sugar with the spice
Oh when today is red
but yesterday was full green
remember, we’re all in this together
know that there’s sugar with the spice
and for all of our sakes
keep your stick on the ice
~
NM
*In loving memory of
Jon Wiebe (1993-2019)
Currently I work in a private residence with individuals who live with disabilities. Before Covid-19, I worked with these persons in a day program. No day programs are running now, so all staff have been shifted to the participants’ residences. Our people are in need of long-term/lifetime care. There are beautiful moments, and times of struggle. Considering the world zeitgeist of when I’ve posted this, I think we all can use reminders that we’re in this together from time to time. I know I sure need these reminders sometimes.
I dedicated this poem to the memory of one of the people in my program who passed away the year I started my current job. Jon’s favourite sport was hockey, thus the hockey metaphor to finish the poem.
CLP stands for Community Learning Program. We teach people the skills necessary to function to the best of their abilities in society. Stuff like hygiene, or knowing what kinds of clothes are appropriate for the weather, usage of traffic conventions when biking/walking, etc.
A transfer is when someone is moved from one spot to another for rest/exercise/hygiene purpose. We use mechanical lifts for this process.
A lot of the activities and metaphors in this poem are related to real occurrences/hobbies/interests/routines of the people I serve daily.
Pogrom is a word meaning “massacre”. Some days I’ve left work feeling like my day’s been massacred. Especially since Covid started. This has added exponentially more stress into my days. It is unbelievably heartbreaking having to routinely tell one of your residents you can no longer hug her, and watching her weep for hours, no matter how you try to frame the situation for her to understand. Or require people who are already deprived of social connections and social outings to remain sequestered in their rooms because of their being sick.
