She was living with her son and his wife, not far from her lifelong home. Although my dear friend Margie Madara had been present for the passing of her parents, and later her husband, she was sure her mother was still living, and she wanted so much to go and make sure she was alright. Margie was a faithful daughter until her own passing in 2019.
She longs to go back home again,
to that old home she used to know
Her memory may be fading fast,
but she doesn't have far to go.
Lost in wandering thoughts of youth,
she waits for her faithful brother;
She's sure he's coming to pick her up ~
She wants to go check on Mother.
Her mind is puzzled; she doesn't know
just why she is here in this place.
"Why can't I go down home?" she asks,
confusion clouding her sweet face.
But this is clear ~ she's God's dear child ~
He will never her alone;
One day soon, He'll hold her hand
and lead her all the way home.
Your description and the poem clearly points out the kind of confusion and longing that dementia can do to take over one's waking thoughts and nightly nightmares. The last stanza doesn't seem to fit the clarity of the first three.
This sounds so much like my father. Every day around four or five o’clock he would begin telling my mother that he wanted to go home. Of course, he wanted to go to the home of his childhood. Sometimes after I came home from work, my mother would call and ask if I would come and see if I could do something with him. About all I could do was get him in the car and take him for a ride. One time he asked me, “Who are you, anyway?” I said, “I’m David. I’m your youngest son.” To this he replied, “Well, I didn’t know that.” These drives and other diversions went on for years and years. There were times he was hilariously funny. And I don’t believe it was wrong to laugh at the funny things he said. My oldest brother worried himself to death that he would take the path of our father. Actually, he was stricken with the same illness, only he was much worse than our father. I fear that I may be the next victim. The signs are there. Pray for me, Connie
She never felt safe at home as a young girl, and didn't understand why when she finally escaped she wasn't safe in the big wide world either ...effectively jumping out of the frying pan into the fire!
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Ron
This sounds so much like my father. Every day around four or five o’clock he would begin telling my mother that he wanted to go home. Of course, he wanted to go to the home of his childhood. Sometimes after I came home from work, my mother would call and ask if I would come and see if I could do something with him. About all I could do was get him in the car and take him for a ride. One time he asked me, “Who are you, anyway?” I said, “I’m David. I’m your youngest son.” To this he replied, “Well, I didn’t know that.” These drives and other diversions went on for years and years. There were times he was hilariously funny. And I don’t believe it was wrong to laugh at the funny things he said. My oldest brother worried himself to death that he would take the path of our father. Actually, he was stricken with the same illness, only he was much worse than our father. I fear that I may be the next victim. The signs are there. Pray for me, Connie
David