Adrift
Incredibly, the flotsam and jetsam of my life flow on through and through it all.
Adrift, I am;
the vortex, and currents of existence pulling me to one shore, then another.
I am, currently, on a small, barren island, with little but my own mind to keep me company, since my mother’s mind is elsewhere.
Living here, but not existing with me, she floats too -- lost in the turbulent sea of her memories.
She sinks, then, comes up for air, but more and more, succumbs to the dark whirlpools and wells of confusion.
The confusion -- that has a disturbing sense of its own –- has a kind of logic that defies and denies reality, challenging me to go mad also.
Subtle and sneaky her ideas come, blindsiding me at dinner and bedtime. For, no matter how much I dread the evening hour’s dementia, each one surprises and shocks me.
Sometimes, we laugh, and I feel guilt, knowing we each have different jokes. Our worlds intersect, less and less, and soon, I will be an alien to her, and our home an alien place.
YOU ARE READING
Alzheimer Rhythms
PoetryMy dear sweet Mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's at 89 and lived to 93. She passed Oct 23rd, 2010. We were very close and it was a hard road for both of us. These poems were written at various points along the way.
