I visited Mother on Wednesday

at the home where she recently moved,

she's still as fit and as agile as ever,

though not quite the Mother I knew,

They say she has senile dementia

and sometimes all of her memories are lost,

like Wednesday, when I said, "hello Mother",

she looked at me and asked who I was,

I'm Joseph, your son, I reminded,

a lump rising hard in my throat,

of course you are Simon she answered,

her voice trailing off as she spoke,

Then she mumbled almost incoherent,

to herself, as though I wasn't there,

finding a soft rhythmic motion,

as she rocked back and forth in her chair,

I sat there just silently praying

that the Mother I knew would return,

desperately holding the tears in check

that welled in my eyes till they burnt,

Then as though a switch had been thrown, she said to me,

"come Joseph, tell your mum how you've been",

and we chatted for over an hour

about things as far back as her teens,

About my father, and how she had met him,

about the war and the hardships they'd known,

then once more her face became vacant

as though that switch, once again had been thrown,

Her hand was withdrawn from my fingers

as though she was being abused,

the look on her face clearly showing,

once more she was scared and confused,

As I kissed her goodbye she shrank from me

and it struck me like a physical pain

as in fear she looked at me and whispered,

"I'm sorry, but who are you again"?

It's the same every time that I visit

and over time it can only get worse

sometimes I wonder who's pain is the greater,

mine that she forgets me? or hers?.

By S.E.Ralph

24-2-2013