Magazine Posts

You loved me before,
and you love me today,
as Dementia came calling
and took you away.
You tell me you love me,
I believe that is true
and I'll love you forever,
as I need to do.

I am full of excitement, when I think of you,
and about all of the wonderful things which
happened to us during this life's fling.
You were the one person who I felt good
to be with. You gave me courage, when
I needed it most. Raising our children, you
did mostly alone, as I was travelling
during the week. I am so proud of the
children you raised, when I was only home
on the weekends.
Now it's my turn to take care of you.
I will visit you every day, to provide
the love and support you need.
I understand your desire, to always have
me near, knowing the Dementia, feeds
your fear.
I love you and will always say, I am
your servant and your husband.

When I write out these words
what do you see?
Do I explain to you
what is bothering me?
I don't wish to whine
but I will share the grief,
when I write words about
Dementia, the memory thief.

Wow, he says,
as his car is
in for 61,000 miles
service, cost, $800.
A leaking radiator
and valve cover,
thermostat, turns
into an additional
$1,200. Service.
They did cover my
rental of 5 days.
Realistically, the
1997 Honda, has
few miles and is
25 years old, so
a cost of $45 per
year is not a bad
thing, in my opinion.

If you don't know me,
it may be better for you,
as I can be eccentric,
if I am talking to who
ever will listen to hear
my sad tale. I have a few.

I'm here in the morning,
before the sunrise.
A new day of living,
another day's surprise.
New friends to meet,
with a new guise,
I suppose it will happen,
and will see with my eyes.
There is still joy today,
if you search and are wise.

Sitting next to my wife
and she says to me,
"I think I'm getting better."
I respond with a positive
comment, but my heart
breaks as there aren't any
known cures for Dementia-Alzheimer's.
She then says," I am trying to get
better." She is adapting to the memory
care facility but does not like being
alone, saying she wants to be
with me. So, I sit here, an emotional mess.
Sorry. I started to write prose and poetry,
to help me through the emotional part
of living with someone who has Dementia.
It doesn't appear to be working at the moment.

The words, "I love you"
slips past her lips, pale,
as she stays in a
memories lost jail.

The inner workings
of a crazed mind,
confusing at best,
if you can find,
the memories of
those left behind.

Where do you go,
what do you say,
when the words,
"I love you," play
in your mind,
not going away,
all rooted now,
remaining to stay.

Writing of words,
in wee morning hours.
Scratching on paper,
until my hand starts to cramp,
is not a preferred way
but is required now.
Words, clear from my head,
a tearful display,
as I write and write.
Where come they from,
I ask of myself.
Unable to answer
I return to my bed,
to the same spot,
where she once lay.

I miss her now,
while I see her every day.
She will never come home,
to the place we loved.