A sickness can suck the love and energy along with memories out of you leaving you with nothing for a while and returning when it chooses.There was always a time before....
A Time Before
(Alzheimers)
May 5, 2011
By Rose Marie Rideout
She may not always recognize the voice
Or remember the name of a loved one,
She may think of you as a stranger
Treat you as an unknown bum.
But underneath those layers,
Hide a love so ever true , A
Love a Mother held dear
For so many of you,
Her Husband,
Children
Grand
Kids
too
Now
All she
Has are
Memories
That flashes back
Every once in a while
Memories of joy, and pain
Off Those tears that she once shed
Once when she called you by name
Held you in her arms and told you often
That you were the most important person to her.
A time when all was clear enough for her to understand
A Time
Before she was robbed
Robbed of her family love and memories,
A Time before an Illness.
Once called dimentia, now Alzhiemers is surely a thief.
Taking from not only the patient, but also the friends and family that love them.
I think if that happens to me someday I may just shoot myself, if I can remember where I put the gun.
So cleverly wrought, Rose, and your form makes the impact even greater. Such robbing squeezes the lifeblood from the heart and mind at times - but ah the special blessing when a window opens somewhere and light shines through! Powerfully and compassionately penned as always. xx
Rose you captured the pain of loss of love so well in this I felt it right to the pit of my heart. Great writing and unique style. Well done Cuz.
hugs
fee
Dear Rose it is sad but we have to take it as it comes. We are humans but our soul and spirit will never die. You are a poet and a designer. Love Emile
Rose, this is so sad, so true and so well written, but so sad. My Mum is 83 and for the last year, we have seen it coming. We are now fully involved with "... a time before..." Unless you object, I’ll plan to share this unique work with her two daughters.
Heartbreakingly sad, but sadly an all too frequent story today...A friend had both parents ill in this way...Love lives on however...Beautifully and movingly written...
My, God, Rose, at times words truly escape me and I find myself absolutely unable to respond to words as touching and heartfelt as these. This, without a doubt, at least in my opinion, is the best that you've ever written.
Mark
Rose, this poem really touched me because I lived it with my father. Breaks my heart! Wish more could be done for the one suffering...Take care, Chessly
To get older and more & more forgetful SUCKS...they can make all kinds of drugs for all kinds of illnesses but for ones like this, the big ones, it seems we are stuck with it...sad write...e
Hello again... and once again you never fail to please. Only, this time I think you've even gone up a level. yes...up a level.
the only way is down..but I think you'll stay up. fab stuff.
Reviewed by D. Vegas (Reader)
Reviewed on April 5, 2011
Rose, So true...a heartfelt write.
Always,
Deborah
Senility is what they called it years ago at least that's what comes to my mind, but this is an opened ended poem with more than one interpretation. Sad on both ends.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
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Taking from not only the patient, but also the friends and family that love them.
I think if that happens to me someday I may just shoot myself, if I can remember where I put the gun.
Walt
but, for me, with a great deal of sadness
your writing manages to rise above.
John
Hugs
hugs
fee
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Texas, Karen Lynn. :(
Thank you. Dick
Love and Hugs, Diana...
Mark
and in these skillfully, beautifully, crafted lines. -gene.
the only way is down..but I think you'll stay up. fab stuff.
Always,
Deborah
George
Hugs,
Anna