She was an English professor
A Poem from The Dementia Diaries
This is not my home, You say. You were in a living room With 13 other women Your words nearly gone. She was an English professor I tell the staff She loved books. Sometimes I read to you And it calms you Even though I don’t know if you can understand. But they’re silly dog picture books Not Doris Lessing Or Robin Morgan Or Audre Lorde. This is not my home, You say. She likes sweets I tell the caregivers. I bring homemade chocolate chip cookies Every week. You try to feed yourself. Your movement is so unsure I guide your hand to your mouth As if you were a two year old. The chocolate smears on your fingers And your shirt. The stain does not bother you But I choke back tears. The need for touch remains. I brush your soft white hair Massage your shoulders File your nails. You relax for a minute And smile. I am a stranger But a kind stranger With chocolate chip cookies And a fluffy dog. This is not my home, You say. It’s where you live now, I tell you, gently. She loved dogs I tell anyone who cares to hear. I say it over and over. You laugh with delight when I bring my dog Tango Who laps up the crumbs Residents drop on the dining room floor. You call him Good Boy And rub his curly head Nodding happily when he offers his paw For a shake. The caregivers spoil him with treats. They wear scrubs and sweatpants. And show me photos of their own dogs On their phones. This is not my home, You say. But one day There is no interest in the book. No appetite. When I make conversation There is no recognition at all. Just a blank stare. Names mean nothing. And then on a Sunday, not long before you die I bring the dog I bring him right up to you for you to pet As always. But you look away. Not today, you say, So clearly, the words right there. Not today.
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Heartbreaking and true. I had a similar experience as my dad's memory and presence slowly faded away.
This was very moving for me, and I appreciated it so much. My beautiful mother-in-law died in April after several years of progressive dementia. She had really been something earlier.
Happy Holidays.
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