this is so sentimentally poignant and real; reminds me of my gigi....she lived to be 99, and i swear for the last 10 years of ehr life all she ate was chocolate :)...and i thought 'why the hell not??' i mean, live a little...lol. ..
but i lvoed the velveteen quality of this; loving something and holding them gently..seeing them gently...almost until they are so lovably worn in and almost out.
the seams showing,.
love it
> <

Gene, the summer before going to college, and for some time while in college, I worked in a nursing home. You have brought it all back....the environment, the smells, and yes, even the people that lived there...you've brought back that sad feeling...and yet, at times, there were feelings of triumph. You have an incredible ability...

Great poem,take care

EDWIN

Oh, God, I can smell the place! I spent a great deal of time--a decade--visiting mother in one of these. A poem which evokes the sadness and flashes of comedy at the end of life warehouse. Lost and not lost, memories unraveling, accompanied by gameshows.

You have captured a clear view for us. I was walking right down that hall. Thanks Gene!

Janet xoxoxo

You have captured the un-answered hopeless melancholy feelings that shroud these places...what a sad truth, Gene

Carole~

Mine are both old BUT thankfully have been spared the life of any nursing home.

S L

... so vivid and stirs many of my own memories and experiences of working as a student in such an environment - yet so many are desperate just to have a listening and caring ear. Where memories still emerge and see the light of day, they are precious - even if peppered with inaccuracies. I have never quite worked out the central importance of a large-faced clock in keeping the senile and ahlzeimer patients balanced. But it is so. Yet another mystery, as is old-age itself. I almost took up a residency working with the recently-diagnosed dementia patients at a local GP practice. Memory is what makes the man - take that away and the self is without anchor, arrow or target. Beautifully poignant. Dextrously sketched. xx

Hi Gene, what a wonder that you can write about this and it be so real to others. I think of my grandmother, and I think of the many elderly folks that I used to visit when I was young. So much of that is missing these days... thank you for sharing...

In Spirit,
Bear

This piece touches me deeply for many many reasons... thank you my friend..)

Myrna

I know those images so well Gene and you create such sense of "the end" for many of us in your phrases. In a practicum years ago I was do interview every client "resident" and write up the points of interest for a small book of introduction for new residents. It was a posh place. Well, I got to talking with so many very interesting people, some of them were over 100 yrs. of age and had their letter from the Queen of England tucked away in a safe place. One lady was married to the airline mechanic who looked after C.Linberg's plane. Another was a gentleman who came from Austria with only one possession, a Stradivarius, which he gave to a young musical genius in Vancouver, and I could go on and on. What a privilege that was. But then there are the haunted faces of dementia and others who seem to be possessed and it is so difficult to maintain one's professional distance sometimes. A little lady who had no family or friends anymore decided she would no longer eat and was about 65 lbs. when I saw her. Well enough of that now. Your poem certainly stirred some fond memories for me and some difficult ones as well. Fortunately statistics in Canada suggest that only 10% of the population end up in nursing homes. Fortunately for me I have a friend who has agreed to put a pillow over my face and sit on it when the time comes. Hugs, J

Oh Gene, such a sad scene. In the end, my mother did not even recognize me. I think I hurt more for her than for myself......

Be always safe,
Karen

about twenty years ago I was the head engineer at one of these nursing/rehabilitation facilities. i could only take it for about nine months and then i quit. i cried everyday i was at work. It was pitiful. there is much misery in this world, and only a very small percentage of these kinds of places are honorable in their dealings with the elderly. your poignant write effectively unearths the feelings and emotions i struggled with during that time.
blessings ...

Gene, a very touching write.

Cheers,
Dan

my clinicals were at a nursing home & your words grip my heart with your tenderness Gene. I am currently taking care of an elderly lady in my home right now & the inspiration she gives me is a beautiful gift towards some priceless insights. Thank you so much for sharing your beautiful self with us through "tuesday visit"
Much Love & Inspirations Always
Vickie

Great write Gene. A little sad but heartwarming too. Well done.

Long corridors flanked by arm-couches filled with old people waiting for God. A visit is a thunder of delight that shakes monotony and silence.
But for some, the day awakes gray and goes on being gray until it finishes with the same tones, not knowing where they had been and were they will go next.
Tuesday visit, when I am "so" old let me slip from it, please?

Georg

An endearing take on the sad facts about the places most seniors inhabit these days.There doesn't seem to be a good answer to the aging problem. Excellent write, Gene...Eileen

kind of sad mean Gene, reminds me of my mother in the assisted care facility, cheers

descriptive, vivid, sincere ... a somewhat bitter experience with a sweet ending ...

This is deeply compelling and very meaningful as you have recreated the mood of the place, the people, the moments so effectively via these verses. Thank you. Love and peace to you,

Regis

Gene,
This poem has the stillness, sureness, respect and compassion of a mature writer who truly understands the circumstances, the closeness to the edge, and it is beautiful and haunting. I'm reading it on a dark rainy wednesday morning and the lump in my throat is huge as is indeed your talent. No more to say.
John

Ah, Gene. You've done it again. Brought me to tears, as I contemplate the inevitable with my 89-year-old Dad. As I go about the duties of being a loving daughter, I .. childless, by choice ... wonder who will do the same for me. Maybe I'll get lucky, and a bus will hit my Harley.

Write on, my dear friend.
Patti

Heartrending poem, Gene; powerfully penned! BRAVO!

(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :(

Hi Jeep, I don't know all the poetic words to respond to this. My heart responds with a "Thank You, Jesus" that I have not crossed that thin line between clarity and ambiguity. This is so sad, but so true and I love your caring heart.

The idea of a parent who was once so strong, so keenly aware, so nurturing now lost somewhere between worlds is an agonizing, pulsating beat that pervades the entire being and is never, perhaps, quite so acute as when we ourselves begin to reach an age where the same destiny seems close enough to reach out and touch. I have walked the cold halls of such places, listened to the sounds, smelled the smells that cannot be camouflaged by sanitizers and made a promise to myself that if I ever sensed my core being drawn into that other-world, I would simply wander off into the deepest forest I could find and pass on, eventually, surrounded by trees, birds' songs and breezes.

I remember this scene quite well, Gene. In my early twenties, over thirty years ago, I worked in a Veteran's Nursing Home, mostly filled with men, but a few women. It's worth a lot to those elderly in nursing homes that someone visit them, although Alzheimer's may have robbed them of their mind, those with the vascular dementia disease still know a smile coming from caring lips...us knowing that one day, too, that those will be paying us a tuesday visit with a box of chocolates...with the 60s generation Ruby Tuesday, or Tuesday Afternoon by the Moody Blues playing loud on the radio...

Love,
Sage

I remember so many folks in nursing homes I used to visit when I did ambulance work...just a kind word is all that was needed to get them to smile...my mom always wondered, after she was placed in one, why she was sent to jail when she didn't do anything...tis a sad write, Gene...Ed

Oh, Gene: what a painting, a poem, a piece of music, a slow sad dance, a movie snippet, an everything you have here. The verisimilitude (all those details) just drive this one home. It is beautiful, poignant, and so real. The beginning haiku - the empty faces contrasting with the blooming azaleas -- is wonderful. the mute music of caged birds is a powerful metaphor. I could go on and on with this one of yours, -- her green and yellow companions, the complexions -- it's just so RIGHT. And of course the ending is also perfect. having the small rooms groan and doze, is I think, interesting; what's that called - not metonymy, something else.... you have captured the mood i feel when I have been in nursing homes. My congratulations to you for its previous publication, and for writing of an agonizing theme so compellingly, with such compassion and understanding.

Gene this beautiful write deeply touched my heart. If we don't die young we will all be old someday.

WHAT A GREAT WRITE DEPICTING THE SADNESS AND THE JOY OF VISITING A DEAR ONE IN A NURSING HOME. THANKS FOR SHARING AND GOD BLESS. JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS