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Writer's picturechristina

Dementia [poem]

Updated: Jan 29, 2021

how scary it must be to get trapped in your own mind and to relive horrible memories of the past that have been locked away ...

Gladys

(1921-2016)


Watching her from where I sat,

She peeked around the corner

Forehead wrinkled in concern

Hands wringing anxiously.


“What are you doing up so late”

I softly asked, moving a little closer.

“Oh, my dad is going to be so mad,”

She quietly whispered more to herself.


“Oh, he's going to be so mad at me.

I'm so late getting home again.

Please, what time is it now anyway?”

I got up, slowly moving towards her.


I reached out for her small hand,

Firmly yet gently taking it into mine.

“Shhh. I promise it will be okay,”

I softly repeated as we started to walk.


“Oh, you don't understand at all.

He will be so angry because it's late.

I don't know how I even got here.

Please what time is it now anyway?”


She held my hand tightly as we walked.

“It's late. You must have woken up.

I will help you back to bed, okay?

I will tuck you in tight so you can sleep.”


She came to a stop in front of a door.

The sign had her name in bold letters.

“This is my room you know,” she stated.

“Yes, it is.” I let her hand slide out of mine.


She shuffled to her bed through the door.

I followed her into the room to the bed.

I straightened out her pillows and blanket

Once comfortable, I tucked her in tight.


“Are you comfortable now?”, I asked

looking up at me, she smiled nodding.

“Good, I’m glad. Get some sleep now.”

“Thank you,” she whispered eyes closed.





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