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Cné Jan 2018
Climbing on the bus
Not looking forward to this trip
But it meant so much to her  
And how could I predict

That it would be her last hurrah
Before she passed away
Just one year ago marks
The anniversary of that day

It was an annual trip, with her twin
They took to different cities
With a group of old church folks
They called themselves
“The Traveling Gypsies”

As it turned out to be
My last fond memory
Of my mother and her twin
Before they were stripped
Of all their memories

Alzheimer’s was their reward
They gave it quite a fight
Bed ridden in their final days
Until they saw the light

Who's to say how it will end
Or where that place will be
A gutter in the streets of life
Or home where it should be

So as I sit and contemplate
These moments I recount
I think about the road ahead
And how I’ll make it count
My mom and her twin sister both had Alzheimer's. My mom was significantly more progressed than my aunt's. My aunt acted as my mom's caretaker long after we had them both moved to a memory care facility. They both did well there for about 6 months. Then my mom became aggressively depressed and crying all the time. At that time, they both had a bad sinus infection at the same time. My mother recovered but was still crying and complaining she couldn't breathe. However doctors could not find any ailments in her. My aunt ended up getting pneumonia. While in the hospital they discovered and diagnosed her with stage 4 terminal lung cancer. She died 4 months later with the last month being bed ridden, hardly eating until she was nearly only bones and on a breathing machine. My mom and her twin were always connected in the weird twin way ... knowing things between them, beyond normal comprehension. We all believe my mom knew (not in a cognitive way but in her own twin way) before diagnosed that her twin was going to die. None of us expected her to live much longer than her twin. They both had long life forces even crippled with cancer and Alzheimer's. My aunt Lorea (other mother) died Oct. 27, 2016. Up until that point my mother could still walk, talk, eat and recognize me and my siblings. However after she lost her twin she could no longer walk requiring much more individual care. We moved her to a residential home care facility. They worked really hard to try and revive her willingness to live. It wasn't a conscious choice to give up because with Alzheimer's your brain doesn't work right. She lasted less than 3 months after the death of her twin. It was heartbreaking, to say the least, to witness. I rejoice her being reunited with her twin and my father and free of the confinement of Alzheimer's but I'm still working through the finality of it on the earthly side. Growing up as a child of twins is a blessing of having two moms (one being the cool mom ... the mom you could tell anything to .. knowing she would know how to explain it to your real mom in a way you couldn't bring yourself to do) and a sister cousin, my aunt's daughter. I had an older sister (10 years) too. So in my case I had three moms I love dearly. I am grateful to still have my sister.
Martin Mikelberg Jan 2018
sudden denial, alzheimers
Written September 20, 1991 -  hello poetry allows me the freedom to let all of you see, think about, approve, disapprove , make comments and/or move on.
For me, Hello Poetry is like an "Open Stage,"  and I am able to be there 24/7.   Part of me is out there and that makes my day.
Aishwary Nigam Dec 2017
Don't turn away.
Cause I am the same person, you couldn't take your eyes off once
I know it's hard, being ignored
Meeting the same person for the first time everyday
I am sorry for everything's faded
But I want to make it up to you
Can we live in the past?
I know you loved me then
I know somewhere you still do
I promise, I am the same
I am the same
I am the same
Wait, who are you again?
facts bounce off me like rubber
wisdom sticks to me like glue
why is it i cannot remember
all of the things that i do

when i am lying wide awake
and think of all things near
i can always remember
the reasons why i am here

i may forget quite a bit
but it doesn't matter to me
as long as i know what truly matters
i will always remain free
very rough draft
Lizzie Dec 2017
I’ve always hated Rainy days.

The storm cloud always lingers around.
His days wash away.
Like chalk on the sidewalk.

The rain comes down.
Our conversation escapes him.
Like a dog free from a leash.

I Remember when you took me to the park.
Why don’t you.
The Rain washed the day away.

I Remember when you gave me your pocket watch.
But why do you ask me about it every day.
The Rain washed the time away.

I Remember when Nana died.
Why can’t you Remember her name.
The Rain washed her away.

Do you Remember when we danced in the Rain?
I know you do.
We talk about it everyday.

Why that moment?
Why is it so important to you?
Why did you always love the Rain?

I’ll Remember when I go off to college soon
Will you?
Don't let the Rain wash me away too.

You never got around to telling me
made this with my friend
Angela Rose Nov 2017
Most days she does not remember what day of the week it is or what time it is
But she always remembers how much I love her
Sometimes she calls me by the wrong name and can’t get her words right
But she always remembers to tell me how beautiful I look today
Most days she cannot form a full thought or complete a full action
But she always remembers she wants her tea with honey and lavender is her favorite scent
A lot of days she asks me the same question 17 times and gets the same answer each time
But she always remembers to tell me how much she loves me
You see Alzheimer’s is tricky and it toys with her head
But she always remains a beautiful soul with a heart full of gladness and an undying love for orchids
Scarlet Niamh Oct 2017
She is winding her way in front of my eyes,
dancing and weaving ivory linens around my neck.
They look like fog and I can't remember,
can't remember the touch, or taste,
if it was your soft hands holding onto me
that October night. I can see my eyes,
so blue - were they always this murky
and dull? There was something between
them, is it commonplace to have a comma
in a full stop's place? Clumsy.
I hold onto my mother with weak, calloused
hands, calling her name. What was her name?
I don't know her face. I only know the fog,
the **** fog, and I can't remember-
why can't I remember? I want to know
the call of the damp, apologetic starling
who pecks holes in the sun so he can ride
with the circus. I want to know my hands,
rough like glass over the furrow of your brow,
but the far away tomorrow is coming for me
and I know that I won't remember
my name, or trace, or the reason
my lips rhyme with the seasons,
in time to save me becoming the fog
which stretches itself over my eyes
like soft, ivory linen.
Poetic T Sep 2017
Collecting memories
in an old book..

       But fragile thoughts
             erode within..

I had a book once,
so many colours...
      
        Now there blank
                  like my thoughts..

Reflections fade
after a time..

       My body is here
           farewell to me reflection..

I know longer know
who stares back at me..

          Tears fall, I know not why,
                         but still they descend.
                    

     I'm a book of many pages
                      but all the ink has gone dry..
serpentinium Aug 2017
cre·a·tion·ism
/krēˈāSHəˌnizəm/

noun

1. did you know we were all stars once?

2. our brains string together branching stars like fairy lights, beacons through the uncharted darkness of humanity's last frontier. the brave wear armor made of starched nylon, wielding scalpels as they forage through the shells of asteroids, the red of dying planets, to find the origins of Adam.

3. they only find shallow graves. decaying neurons grow cold, silver, myelin pooling into tear-stained letters written by trembling hands. forgotten keys. forgotten birthdays. forgotten names. stars collapse one by one, an orchestration of color and sound that feels familiar in its chaos, comforting-- like coming home.

4. they bury each burned-out galaxy with their bare hands. tomorrow,  they promise to the dirt and ash, tomorrow we will voyage to the edge of the universe, full of bright stars, and we will find a new hope.
inspired by my neuroscience textbook which said something along the lines of "there are more neurons in the brain than stars in the universe."
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