Ramblings on Grief...

 Hi.  I promised I would post the poetry that I submitted to a writing contest this past summer so without any further ado: 

Deal with Dementia 

Who will answer the phone today?

Will it be the woman who remembers,

the one who interacts?

Or will it be the woman who doesn’t remember,

the one who talks in circles, repeating the same questions?

So sometimes I avoid calling,

then guilt sets in.

Face to face isn't much easier,

sitting in uncomfortable silence,

worrying about what she is thinking,

or feeling.

Knowing the conversation may frustrate her,

may be hard to follow.

Then the anxiety of the "what ifs" enter my mind.

"What if” this is my future?

"What if " that little struggle to find the right word

is an indicator of future struggles?

“What if" I should be seeking early

interventions now.

What if, what it, what if...

Losing a parent is hard

and I often feel like I'm losing Mom,

over and over.

Pieces of her die

in circular conversations.

A reminder of a long hard process  

without a predictable end point.

Losing a parent is hard.

Losing a parent over and over is taxing.

Still there is no choice but to

deal with dementia.

*The formatting was weird on that. What I would do now to still be dealing with dementia. I miss her like mad. I am very good at trying to ignore grief but something a family member said the other day really has brought it back to the surface the past few days: "The holidays are especially hard." I think that is 100% true compounded with the fact that I don't have routine to distract me for the next two weeks. I am very excited for the rest but will miss distraction.

Here is the next poem I submitted:

Dementia is a Thief

Stealing moments that should be monumental,

birthdays once recollected with precision,

now only recalled with reminders.

Names once salient,

now faded,

replaced by relationship tags:

Your husband,

Your daughter,

Your sister.

Physical death still distant

yet mental death is imminent.

Close connection

ripped away like a shoplifter

and their five finger discounts.

Dementia is a thief. 

*To any of you associated with dementia my heart goes to you. It is not easy. Just try to be okay with just sitting in silence at times and. holding hands. You will be glad you had those sweet moments.

Here is my favorite of the three poems I submitted. There are more poems to be written about grief, but my brain still needs to just be in silent and process the whole entity that grief truly is.

Grief is a Bastard

Alone and abandoned,

you leave it unattended,

packed far down in the darkest

forgotten corners of your brain. 

But like a 3-year-old begging for attention, 

in a crowded department store,

grief tantrums. 

Raging,

punching,

tearing up from

long dried ducts.

Crying alone feels right.

In the dark isolation of a cold room,

under warm covers.

Crying feels like a necessary solo act.

Unlike a musician,

who solos surrounded by a crowd,

and more like a pilot

trying to transatlantic in solitude.

Yet like Amelia,

solo proves fatal,

extending the life of grief,

keeping you alone and abandoned.

Grief truly is a bastard. 

*I have let myself be familiar with grief. I do not try to push it away. Today the tears nearly froze as I was walking the dog and a song that gets me thinking about mom came on. Instead of avoiding it and skipping the tune, I embraced it, tears in all! Luckily, I have a very good support group! My dad was right, "With time it will get better," even though it is taking a long time but there is hope is the baby steps that healing brings.

I think that is all I have for now. I truly do think about what to post or right and am often just paralyzed. I think in many ways that is how grief has felt of late. I have great intentions of writing or reading more that quickly turn to sitting and staring, a pure nothingness replaces those intentions. But again, with time it will get better. So, in the meantime, I just keep dealing with grief too!