Quietly....

We "do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope." I Thessalonians 4:13

August 1, 2016

Quietly she left us.

Her breathing slowed
and tapered in its depth

until it was no more.

We watched in awe.

It was a holy moment.

Our joy in her release from 

the prison of her deteriorated mind and helpless body

well balances the sadness of realizing 

her physical presence is no longer with us.

The More...The More

Her nails, strong and beautiful. 

Apparently not unlike her heart that continues to beat this afternoon. 

 (And hopefully, not unlike our faith in God's wisdom, loving-kindness and sovereignty...)

The more her self-care diminished,

her sense deserted her,

her speech failed her…

the more helpless 

she becomes,

the more I think I understand her.

How is that possible?

(Or IS it?)

“No,” they tell me

by their silence and 

careful, well-intentioned statements of sympathy. 

I suspect they are correct.

7-29-2016

Bonus Hour

A clean washrag

warmed with water

gently laid on her eye

(matted by disuse and time)

softened and removed

the obstruction.

Unexpectedly

both eyes sprang open

fixing their sight on my face;

holding my eyes

by their power.

A bonus hour

(rare and unheralded)

passed
replete with emotions,

wordless communication,

and irrepressible joy.

As quiet the hour’s coming

was its ending;

its afterglow
timelessly pulsating

in my heart.

        7/16/2016 - rlg

Reality

I'm well aware of the awkwardness and discomfort my amateur attempts at poetry may create.  However, with someone in the U.S. developing Alzheimer's disease every 66 seconds and 1 of 3 seniors dying of Alzheimer's or another dementia, there are realities that must be reckoned with!  Hear then THIS reality.

multiple falls
unobserved
discovered
dutifully recorded
curtly reported
verbally impaired
mental skills questionable
pain variably
undetected
misinterpreted
ignored
dismissed
till she no longer walked but
was lifted
and shifted
then bed's exclusivity
claimed her
leaving
her pain (and ours)
still variably
undetected
misinterpreted
ignored
dismissed
(rlg, 7/4/2016)

UPDATE:

Someone whom I invited to try out this poem said, "That is beautiful and so sad.  (((Hugs)))"

To that, I responded:  "I need to make it less sad.  I'm not sad."

I'm trying to figure out how to do that (make it less sad).
And I also confess that sometimes I AM sad.

The Hours Passing

Her breathing
   regular
   and deep
The room
   calm
   and peaceful
The hours
   passing
   and profound
My heart
   quiet
   and content
(6/16/2016, rlg)

 Incidentally:
The roses

pale

      and pink.

(Seen in our neighborhood while walking Tuesday morning.)

So Much More...

For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes.

(Luke 12:23)

The longer I live, the more I "see"  

in some of the most familiar Bible verses!

While struggling to put human words to some of my frustrations and emotions,

these divine words came to my mind and summed up what I am observing

on an almost daily basis.

Life IS more than food.  The body IS more than clothes!

Dementia makes ministering to that life (and body) a challenge.

I am convinced providing food and clothes is not enough.

There is more.  So much more.

Poetry

I watched her from the recliner that sits a few feet from her hospital bed.  Her eyes were closed.  Her breathing even and peaceful.  Earlier, her eyes had been open, but her position dictated that she looked straight up at the ceiling rather than in the direction of our voices as we played a card game so near but so far from her.

Then the others left.  We were alone, she and I.  She no longer looked at the ceiling.  Her eyelids covered her stare.  Gentle harp music played from my computer, and I begin to type.....

Sleep on, Dear One,
In whose womb my heart once beat,
Whose eyes open only occasionally now
And warily. Seemingly unfocused,
Yet searching for the recognizable
In a world blurred
By senses dulled in ways unknown
Except to your Heavenly Father.
Once again, my heart beats close to yours,
And my eyes strain to see what yours see.
Sleep on, Dear One.
 
I'm thankful for the release of an unspeakable joy and a glorious pain that poetry enabled once again. That, to me, is the beauty of words--imperfect and incomplete as they are.  I look at them and own them.  I savor the holiness of the moments.  I embrace the mystery and my heart is healed, held and re-formed by the Heavenly Father, hers and mine.

Mother

companions in
 slow walks

down quiet halls

she in wheeled chair

i on faulty legs

 lost in thoughts

each her own

connected by

rare smiles

or raised eyebrow 

Memories of the Heart

First we glued the craft sticks together.
Her task was to stabilize them 'til the hot glue dried.
Then her hands patiently shaped the halos that will be placed atop the angels' heads.

Minutes and hours passed in reverent companionship.

 If she COULD have said it, I think this is how she would have expressed herself.

I remember you with my heart.
My mind can't say your name.
I can’t recall where I knew you,
or who you are,
or who I am.
Maybe I grew up with you.
Maybe we were family together.
Did we walk together yesterday?
There’s something wrong -
with my memory.
But I do know you.
I know I know you.
I know I love you.
I know how you made me feel.
I remember the feelings -
we had together.
My heart remembers.
It cries out in loneliness for you.
For the feelings you give me now.
Today, I’m happy that you have come.
When you leave -
my mind will not remember -
that you were here.
But my heart still remembers.
Remembers the feeling of warmth
and love returned.
Remembers that I am less lonely -
and happier today -
because you have come.
Please, please don’t forget me.
Please don’t stay away just
because of how my mind works.
I can still feel you.
I can still remember you with my heart.
A Memory of the heart is really -
the most important memory of all.

 (Original Author Unknown – named, revised and edited by Stan Berg 5/6/2008.)

 We completed the stables.  Ten of them.

When I return later this week, we'll add "the people".

I wonder if she'll remember they are Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus...