This door I walk through every week
It is her petite figure I seek
Sleeping in a brown broda chair
Wrinkly forehead under gray hair
I say, “Hello, mom, how are you?”
She says, “Who are you?”
I tell her my name is Mary
but she seems a bit wary
It goes back and forth most days
This unknowing haze
Am I sister or daughter?
Is it March or October?
This door leads to Pauline
The Energizer Bunny machine
Still going at ninety-eight
Eating most everything on her plate
She asks repeatedly to go home
And who will her chauffeur be?
Much like a Quatrain poem
This stanza is her standing plea
I hold her hand, we talk
More like she dozes, I talk
I don’t always know what to say
To keep silence at bay
This door is the entrance to the past
Where Pauline’s future was cast
Her mind a cloud of dust
In others she must trust
So, what does tomorrow bring?
Her daughter keeps wondering
Will mom know where she resides
Or wonder if there’s snow outside?
This door opens to the sun
Where her memories continue to run
Of Milwaukee family long ago
That she’ll meet when she finally goes home
Stream of Consciousness Saturday is the door that opens to author Linda G. Hill. Every Friday, Linda provides her followers with a prompt. It can be a word or words and sometimes bonus points are involved (my favorite). Linda asks us to write without editing, other than correcting spelling errors.
Just go with the flow.
Like a babbling brook, ambling stream or running river. Click HERE if this type of writing floats your boat or helps with your decision-making.
Mary J Melange 
Aw, been there, done that, caring for a loved one with dementia it’s not easy. Your mom is very lucky to have an understanding daughter. Hugs to you and your mom!
Thanks Shelley. Mom is doing okay, all things considered. She just keeps going…
I continue to be amazed at how our human bodies remain resilient even when our brain starts to fail. Enjoy every moment you have with her!
This is the first time I can recall that you’ve referred to your mom’s name. She is quite remarkable to still be so relatively healthy 💕
I think I wrote mom’s name before, but not sure. Anyhow, you are correct in that mom is remarkable to still be kicking. I found it very interesting when hospice took her off her diabetic and blood pressure meds that nothing went wrong. How does that happen?
So does that mean she is completely off her medication now?
Off two meds, but now she needs a little something at night for her sundowning…to keep her anxiety at Bay.
It is such a bittersweet time. I empathize with you both. Hugs Mary.
Thanks Cheryl 🙂 ❤
That’s a very special door and you are such a good daughter/sister/person for going through as you do. 98 is amazing, your mom must be a strong woman, and clearly she’s under good care.
I truly thought mom wouldn’t last long after dad passed away, but boy did she prove me wrong. If she makes it to 100 it will be both a miracle and a celebration.
I lost my Mom when I was so young…always felt so deprived and marked by the experience. Orphaned way too early.
Ahh, but THIS…what you have and what you have to do and who you are, Mary. I’m in awe. I also feel deep sadness for parts of your journey with your mother.
And ever so slightly envious.
I’m sorry you lost your mom early in life. I hope you’ve had family and friends along the way that filled some of the void. There have been the sad parts with mom, but every day I get to visit with her and hold her hand is a good day. We don’t always have great conversations, but I hope that mom just enjoys having her daughter/sister there.
This is beautiful. I tell my husband, “If I get dementia, you have to sing with me.” He doesn’t like to sing and I love singing. I’ve heard that helps with dementia.
Thanks JoAnna. I feel the same way about music and singing. No matter what my mind is like when I’m elderly, music has to be part of my life. I think the act of singing and remembering the words must help the dementia and alzheimer’s patients as it provides stimulation.
Yes! Songs flow better than words alone. I’ve read that about stroke patients, too.
None of us are leaving this life alive, but the journeys we take are so diverse. I applaud you for the support you give your Mom. As children we do not understand the efforts made on our behalf. When we become adults and have our own lives, it could seem like an imposition to take care of them. But, I think you will be able to look back on these days with no regrets, and what more could you ask for. 🙂
The only regret I may have, Judy, is not getting to know my parents better when I was younger. Being married then, I really didn’t have the kind of conversations that I now wished I would have had. I’ve had wonderful engaging visits with mom, but as she slips deeper into her dementia, she can tell me less and less of her long life.
There’s no imposition in being there for mom or my weekly visits. I’m happy to be whoever she wants me to be. 🙂
I don’t think you are alone by a long shot in the ‘what if’ I had gotten to know my parents better. I know my name would be right next to yours on that list.
I agree about wondering what it’d be like to have known my parents better– as an adult friend, rather than a child. Don’t know that there’s a word for that feeling/regret, but there should be.
Even though I wish I had spent more time with mom and dad during my adult years, I am grateful for the stories mom has told me of her youth the past few years. Some of these stories I had never heard before.
That’s cool. And sweet. You’re lucky.
Oh Mary …. I have absolutely nothing I can say, for I’m choked both in the throat by a huge lump, and in my heart, where normally my words come from.
I think you’re amazing. Truly.
I send my love ~ Cobs. xxx ❤
Aww, thank you Cobs. I paid mom a visit today and although she wasn’t very talkative, she ate like a trooper. Mom loves her meat and has been eating things she never ate before. Appetite is a good thing! ☺
Sending love back at ya!
That’s a wonderful doors post, Mary. Very sweet and often cute. Y’all are lucky to share this door.
Thank’s Joey. I’m happy that I’m still walking through that door.
Never forget the person who seems to forget you loves you still. Always has, always will. They are just not able to tell you. So love them even if they forget your name. Their heart never forgets.
Claudia, thanks for your very sweet comment. I will remember this the next time I visit with mom.
I only say this because if I ever lose touch with reality I want my kids to know how much I love them.
Lovely, absolutely lovely. And heartbreaking.
Thank you. I’m so very grateful that I still have my mom and can look at her sweet face.