her time to go
moon radiates and pulls
out to sea
*
gray dayz
winters are harsh
there goes the hairline
*
looking at the time
seasons can’t decide
Covid expiration date
I hope amid all the masks here and distancing there that you are finding a “new normal”
Please chuckle we all need to…
Morning Glory Trail
sun rises with a smile
her hands still agile
***
We are fortunate my mother still has an agile mind and a healthy body.
As our moms age, we go through denial, look for the person she was, put the remaining pieces together in a way we can deal with.
Many of my clients are elderly women. From Parkinsons, Alzheimers to multiple chronic diseases each makes “mom” more fragile.
The women who tucked us in, helped with homework, fixed the holiday dinners, never forgot a birthday, kept the grandkids for a week are now in a decline.
I notice many caregiver/kids want their parents to return. They get frustrated when their parents forget memories and forget them.
Memory is a complicated machine. We may not be able to form words around our memories but I think they remain to some degree.
When I give my client her knitting needles, her hands retain memory on the mechanics tho her hands may not be strong enough to hold the needles. I put moisturizer on her fingertips each morning and her fingers remember to make little circles on her face. I don’t care if she misses some areas her hands (and mind) are being reminded of what they do.
Patients whose families continue to provide care (it is okay to get outside assistance this is a 24/7 job) seem to have higher function and they are more content in general.
When we are close to the daily care we don’t always see the connection – but I do.
“Hi mom I had a great day at work. How are you?” A sleeping woman wakes up and a big smile covers her face.
“Hey dad how was your day?” She doesn’t see the voice recognition but I do.
Though they cant always remember names or faces they are able to make connections via their memory.
Don’t give up – your mama is still there lighting up inside each time you enter the room.
Do you have good memories of your mama????
How’s your memory?
“This is the worst part of my life” she moaned. “Everything is in the past, nothing is in the future. Why didn’t I invest in life with more vigor more passion?”
She is in the twilight years of her life. Not much more to do than eat, sleep, and shuffle. Hearing aids augment sounds but many words slip by her ears without cognition. “What will I do with what remains of me?” she screams in a hoarse whisper.
“I could have been a writer, I could have been a nurse, instead I did nothing. What was it all for?”
Oh the doubts and fears that can eclipse the thoughts of the elderly. Too late to remedy their wishes but never too late to bemoan what was lost.
“Give me your hand dear Madeline” (for that is the name I will give you today). “Let us take a walk down the primrose path of your memories. Let’s smell the sweet scent of youth – yes you can remember those familiar scents of yesteryear though your olfactory system no longer cooperates today.”
“What will we see down that path? A handsome young man in uniform. An officer – just going to war. Hold out your arm, wave goodbye, give him the apple of your eye. When he returns, some things will never be the same.”
“There just look down that overgrown walk. Let’s take a moment and stop. ” A kind faced gentleman, his arm gracefully draped behind his withered wife, stands next to the ivy laden gate.They were her aunt and uncle. How proud was she to know such folks. She reflects –”they taught me so much during the Depression.”
Another lane, more clear to see, grown up children with babes running free. The meadow is open the sun is bright– these children represent Madeline’s years of light.
She starts to smile as she takes in the sun, the blue of the flowers, the sounds of children having fun. “There’s promise you see in a world that seemed small. You had a life –it was something after all.”
***
***
rubbing sister leaves
new endings, old beginnings
color explodes
a time to reflect
put away past pains
reach for tomorrow
The prompt for the first day of September at Chevrefeuille’s Carpe Diem is DECAY.
Where does Fall fall for you???
Rambling words at the beginning of life
infancy
Eager to reach and stretch toward the sky
adolescence
Doting over little ones who sprout and giggle
parenting
Watching as they go on without you
middle age
One tight smile as they watch you wither
seniority
Offensive sounds ringing in ears
Finality
hands of time stopped
Timber!!!!
This poem is pulled from my 2010 archives and shared with today’s poetry pantry.
Her art took on a new beauty
rust etched the background
creating a sepia contrast
red, ochre, black ground and mixed
embedded under her nails
each brush an ally
each painting a well-known friend
pochade box hinges creaked
suffering its own form of arthritis
and she the master of life’s canvas still
Laurie Kolp’s prompt at Poetry Jam this week was “Rust.” Having just been at my childhood home aka art studio, I felt compelled to write in rust colored ink.
Photograph: “The Lane to the Stable” L. Moon 2013
The oil painting “Stanford Lane” circa 1980 is the copyright image of Clare
also in my archives some photographs of Rusting Images.
Rambling words at the beginning of life
infancy
Eager to reach and stretch toward the sky
adolescence
Doating over little ones who giggle and crawl
parenting
Watching as they went on without you
aging
One tight smile as they watched you wither
senority
Offensive sounds with their stinging blades
Finality
Done was my time
Timber!!!!
Thanks to G-Man who each week makes writing fiction fun. Well as long as you keep your fiction to 55 words and have a plot…
Photograph: Moondustwriter 2010
Looked in the mirror lately
what do you see?
I’d like to look back
at a former me
***
so much has changed
from dark to gray
lines in odd places
they’re sadly here to stay
***
some things work too well
what’s that pain about?
If I could reverse time
before my knees give out
***
one thing that’s a constant
the state of my heart
always loving and caring
after all that’s my art
Learning to live by the indwelling life of Christ.
Gud skaper noko nytt ved sitt Ord og sin Ande, vi kan ta imot det i tru og få oppleve at han gjer sitt verk med oss. Hans skaparkraft verkar konstuktivt i våre liv og skaper noko som er verdifullt for oss. Naturkreftene verkar nedebrytande, i fylgje entropilova, men Gud er Ånd og det som er født av hans Ande består. Jesu frelsesverk er fullbrakt og fullkome. Han er den siste Adam, som er ifrå himmelen og som for oss har vorte ei livgjevande ånd. Han gjev oss den Heilage Ande frå himmelen av berre nåde. Han gjev oss det evige livet.
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
Thanks for following a cowgirl on her crazy life journey.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. - Edgar Allan Poe
Hoping to make the world more beautiful
Books by author Diana Coombes
With previous posting of "Our World" on Blogger
my humanity in written form
Experiments in Creative Writing, and more ....
Poetry by Mich
FOR READERS AND ASPIRING WRITERS
Everyday musings ....Life as I see it.......my space, my reflections and thoughts !!
From Board Books to Clean YA
Cherishing the Past while Celebrating the Present
FROM ONE PARENT TO ANOTHER
Living life with dissociative identity disorder and complex ptsd
penned in moon dust 