Back in August, 2014, I wrote a poem called Pauline’s Dream. You can read it HERE.
For the Day 5 poetry challenge of Fog/Elegy/Metaphor, I chose to rewrite this poem and the words, but tell the same story. For those of you who are not regular readers, my mom is 95 and suffers from the effects of dementia. When Ben suggested fog as a mental state, this was a natural response.
This is the place of my dreams, but it is not
I do not want to be here, in the fog
I cannot see through the grayish cold mist that clouds my vision
The opaque screen hides clarity
My memories are of mother, father, twelve siblings
And the family home by the tracks
Gathering earth on my shoes as I walk through the garden
Watching mother tend to the beans
Inside, the smell of red grapes emanates in an oakish tint from the basement
The odor of dinner drifts gently
My brothers and sisters claim their favorite places
Are you here, sister Jean?
That is where dreams and reality divide and confuse thoughts
How did I become lost in the cold goose gray?
I want to remember today, but the pea soup makes the spoon stand straight
And I remember only 80 years past
Did you know that my brother pee’d down the snowbank
And my sister sold the house?
I don’t want to be in this haze and forget that I bore Mary
She is daughter, not sister
I want to remember the blue eyes of the skin and bones I called husband
And how long he’s been gone
I want to remember those who visit…Teresa and Paula and Judy
Instead of the atrocities of super glue
But here I am, in the clear murkiness of 15 humans and their home
At times, I don’t remember their names
I ask sister…no, daughter Mary to write them down on paper
So I can confirm their existence as true
I search for my family, in my dreams, and when I wake
I find them
Mother, father, siblings refuse the silent stare of the enveloping fog
And my sister Mary is here
Gah, the last line was like a punch to the gut. Really powerful stuff.
Mom is good at throwing punches every now and then, but I have found a way to not let it bother me. Go with the flow, so to speak, and simply enjoy her company.
Beautiful and so moving. I loved this line: “Instead of the atrocities of super glue”. There is so much depth of meaning in there.
I send you and your family my best.
Thank you Sam. Mom called me up one evening and wanted to know if I bought super glue. She was concerned about my safety because she remembered this news story of a man who was super glued to a toilet seat. Mom surprises me on occasion with these news flashes. That one, especially, made me smile.
Ah! Thank you for sharing that story. I was looking at it in general way, where even everyday objects take on other-worldly meanings. 🙂
You are welcome, Sam!
This is so beautiful and moving. Dementia is a tough illness- not only on those affected directly but on the families of those people. Thank you for sharing this story.
Thank you Gary. Acceptance makes it a little easier for me, but I’m still working on always trying to correct her. It only serves to frustrate!
I bet, bless you!
This is breathtaking, Mary. So sad for your mom, and for you.
Be happy for mom and I. She may forget I’m her daughter, but we are still spending time together…alive and breathing!
I am overwhelmed by the melancholic beauty in this! “I want to remember the blue eyes of the skin and bones I called husband” gave my chills, and I think “But here I am, in the clear murkiness of 15 humans and their home” is going to stick in my head for the rest of the day. A wonderful piece!
Thank you so much. For whatever reason, writing about mom seems to always flow easily. Plus, poetry class has given me a needed push to think outside the box.
that last line was something… so sad.
It is, but be happy for mom. She has lived a very long life. Every time I go to see her, I fully expect her to think I’m her sister. One of these days, I’m going to agree and let her keep telling stories.
Ah, I love that.
This is a beautiful poem. It’s a sad story but one that many are familiar with. The last line is hard to read. I have been through that. Nicely done Mary.
Thanks Dan. I wish I could give back mom’s mind and her sight and her hearing. It’s a tough world for her, so I’m glad she has happy memories of growing up with family.
Your mother and you … I wonder how many mothers could be supported by a daughter like you, M-J; and I know that the world would be a much better place were there more.
I humbly take in your wonderful compliment. I have a friend that is doing the same for her mother and Natasha did all that she could for her dad before he passed away. There are many like us…untold stories!
Ah, but we all gain from knowing them, M-J. You mustn’t stop telling us …
Most likely I won’t, M-R. Stay tuned!
Such a difficult time for you, M-J, and such a horrible disease to watch as the person you love slips away to somewhere we cannot go. Beautiful poem.
Thanks H. I appreciate the kind thoughts.