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Posts tagged ‘Dementia’

Mary

Oh raggedy old woman with
Your weak and toothless smile
With folded skin and greying locks
Has life been such a trial?

Your groans, your protestations and
Your yells and grumpy do
Your shouting out so very loud
Disguising the real you

I wonder who you really are
Beneath your upset veil
What person did you used to be
Before you got so frail

Dressed in confusion’s linen and
Dementia’s shrouding cloak
What have those eyes seen in the past
What stories have you spoke

What person did you used to be
Before the clutch of age
Took hold with mask eclipsing
The oak’s sagacious page

And what conflicts have you witnessed
Throughout your long long years
The battles, wars and struggles that
Still steel your heart and tears

The loves that came and loves that went
The jobs you did so well
I wonder what great yarns you have
What history you can tell

For through the windows of your eyes
Your sweeter soul’s laid bare
I wonder raggedy old maid
Why no-one seems to care?

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Old Man

He travels to another place
Heads further back in time
Leaving the present where it is
In shifts cross paradigms
To days gone by where memories
Dance vividly and wild
Affection, comfort, resonance
Back when he was a child

For now as an old man he sits
In chair by the fire side
Where behind vacant eyes a life
Plays out so large and wide
And though it’s inaccessible
To us – hid out of view
He lives in vessels of the past
Whilst sitting there with you

So do not cry my sweet sweet love
Wipe tears away from eyes
For you’ll be always in his heart
Even if in disguise
For what you have and what you had
Is true to cherish dear
And though he may now be elsewhere
Your love’s the constant here

  
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/da/An_old_man_diagnosed_as_suffering_from_senile_dementia._Colo_Wellcome_L0026689.jpg.

Fading Memories

There is a door
Enticing; alluring
That draws me closer
Bids me to enter
Beckons me to go through
And yet the key escapes me
It evades my touch
Hanging out of reach
On a silver thread above the door
Woven like the silk of a spider’s web
Dangling in the shadows ahead
Occasionally catching the odd ray of sun
That beams in a single dart

So many times have I unlocked that door
So many times have I entered
And walked in the garden the other side
The garden of memories
Pictures of the past
Sentiments, emotions, recollections
Where the feet of yesterday
Are the footholds of today
A landscape of verdant pastures
Beautiful flowers in full bloom
The scents and perfumes alive
And the sounds, the sights, the sensations
Drawing the images of life now spent

But now the key to the past vanishes
Slowly evaporating in the folds of age
Greying into obscurity
Dissipating into the ether
So that only sometimes can I take hold of her
And walk through the door and reminisce
Yet soon I will never go through again
And then what will I have?
Memories gone forever
Lost behind the door
The key lost in the web of life
A dark corridor in which to wander
Without the glories of the garden beyond

Fading Memories

That Thing

That thing
That thing that I can no longer access
That precious thing that defines me
Yet no longer I know
That no longer resonates
No longer lingers in the corridors of mind
Harbingers no more in neural mazes
And yet as in a maze wonders lost

So lost
Lost to yesterday and maybe lost now
For who maybe knows anymore?
Do I know? Do you know?
What is there but this
Cognition impaired; memories gone
Confusion; chaotic thoughts
Nothing; absent threads of cognizance

Cognizance stripped
Stripped like the bark of an old tree
But no-one sees.  Not even I see
The sagacity trapped deep in the folds
For degeneration of matter
Is the mask that now seems only to matter
And yet – you see – I am still me
Yes! Deep inside I am still that thing

A yellow flower of Coleostephus myconis

A yellow flower of Coleostephus myconis (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Sagacious Oak

You look and see a dying oak
A tree that’s stood in time
A tree now covered in green mould
With branches bared from slime

You see the broken sticks that fall
On floor around my trunk
The leaves that do not come in spring
My frame so stark – defunct

And yet I’d tell a different tale
As I have stood my ground
The days I’ve seen whilst standing here
The treasures I have found

I’d tell of years gone by and how
They’ve shaped our history
The acorns that I then produced
What they went on to be

I’d say of those who’ve climbed by boughs
You’ve swung right off my arm
Who’ve hidden in my mighty oak
To save them from all harm

I’d relay the winters that I’ve seen
In life and lives so real
I’d tell you how they shaped our earth
And tell you what I feel

So whilst you see an old, oak tree
Dilapidated; in decay
I still have wisdom in my bones
To inform you today

For lose the past and memories
The present can’t exist
And still the future won’t then shine
Save Oak’s sagacious mist

Oak

Oak (Photo credit: Bushman.K)

Neural Blooms

There is a place deep in ourselves
Where free will operates
A place where liberty exists
Where right and wrong relate
Where tides of anger lay controlled
By stronger stimuli
Where good emerges, bad deeds fade
A place where conscience lies

Though sadly in the twilight hours
That seat of consciousness
Can lapse into the evening air
Diminish and regress
As cells degenerate and die
And systems fail to fire
With palsy’s grip that suffocates
The will and hope’s desire

A wash that drowns the mind of man
The sea of discontent
The fate of free will held hostage
In airs of malcontent
Where cruelly all those better times
Are stripped down horribly
With no concession towards night
And darkness neurally

There is a place deep in ourselves
Where free will operates
A place to treasure and hold dear
Lest it becomes too late
So go forth into life enjoy
The seeds turned fragrant flowers
But care for those whose blooms are gone
In their retiring hours

20140314-184253.jpg

Mary

Oh raggedy old woman with
Your weak and toothless smile
With folded skin and greying locks
Has life been such a trial?

Your groans, your protestations and
Your yells and grumpy do
Your shouting out so very loud
Disguising the real you

I wonder who you really are
Beneath your upset veil
What person did you used to be
Before you got so frail

Dressed in confusion’s linen and
Dementia’s shrouding cloak
What have those eyes seen in the past
What stories have you spoke

What person did you used to be
Before the clutch of age
Took hold with mask eclipsing
The oak’s sagacious page

And what conflicts have you witnessed
throughout your long long years
The battles, wars and struggles that
Still steel your heart and tears

The loves that came and loves that went
The jobs you did so well
I wonder what you great yarns you have
What history you can tell

For through the windows of your eyes
Your sweeter soul’s laid bare
I wonder raggedy old maid
Why no-one seems to care?

Recently, in hospital, there was an old woman. She was 92 years old – a raggedy old lady, confused, frail, but clearly under the impression she was going home. She kept shouting and yelling down the ward at the nurses – sometimes nicely, sometimes rather impolitely but generally her lucidity was not what it would have been. I sorted her radio out to try and quieten her down for a bit to be honest but radio 2 didn’t seem to do much – no surprises there! She then got a severe telling off from the nurses for asking where the “bastards” had got to at the top of her voice in one of her muddled, confused, insane moments. The nurse went on and on about how much they have to put with, the abuse, the poor pay, the long hours blaming the old woman all the while for her indiscretion. And I looked on and thought just what a waste it was – that sort of lecture didn’t work; she couldn’t remember what had happened two minutes ago so how was she going to remember what this nurse was saying to her two minutes later.
Needless to say the nurse left and the old woman muttered sweet nothings in the air that went behind her – mumbling away to herself, still confused, still convinced she was going home and critically still alone. I went over again and spoke to her – I sat there in the chair and listened to her for some 20 minutes. I told her she couldn’t be naughty and had to wait her turn and then got her telling me stories about her life – her marriage, her children, her jobs, her homes, her romances, holidays. We passed 20 minutes of time but probably jumped between 6 or 7 decades of memories and slowly in that time she calmed down and started to refer to the nurses as “little angels”, “pretty girls”, “the charming young doctor. 

Her aggression dissipated and it made me realise that we all judge far too quickly when we’re upset about how someone is treating us particularly when they don’t have too much nice to say but we don’t always take the time to get to know someone – to give them a bit of space and open the curtains on their lives so that the sun can really shine out of them. So from now on, I’m going to try really hard to do that so that I don’t risk keeping the drapes closed harbouring a rainy, stormy and to be honest rather grotty day.

And the old woman, well thankfully she then was so exhausted after her trip down memory lane, she dosed off for the rest of the day much to the relief of the rest of the ward I’m sure but you know I guess I’ll always remember her now! I don’t know her name but god bless her
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