It's getting to the point where I know and hear about more people coming down with dementia. It's concerning. But having dealt with friends and relatives who have experienced this in their own lives, I decided to write a poem about the issue.
Here it is.
The New Land
There comes a
time it's hard to rhyme,
No longer can
we reason,
We fail to find
peace of mind,
Clear thoughts are
out of season.
Memories are like the breeze,
They touch, they light, they fly,
Together we made some memories,
On that we could rely.
But the loss is
clear, as is the fear,
Memories no
longer there,
No sense of
when, what would have been,
Or why it was,
or where.
Who people
were, him and her,
No longer we remember,
Paths we've taken, now forsaken,
Our minds a
dying ember.
You may deem
that some things seem,
Little
different than before,
But to me, each day I see,
A new world to
explore.
From my point
of view, all things are new,
I may seem out of touch,
Wondering just what's the cause,
Of why you care so much.
Mystery surrounds me,
A familiar face? But no,
Yesterday I was okay,
But today, not quite so.
So what’s in store? Each day there’s
more,
New foods full of flavor,
New friends to meet, new things to eat,
New things to see and savor.
And once again, we can befriend,
Each other day by day,
No longer doubt or feel odd about,
Each going our separate way.
So don’t feel sad or even mad,
That I don’t remember you.
Just introduce yourself each day,
And together we’ll see this through.
What and who may matter not,
As long as we survive,
Each day I stand in this new land,
And feel it's good to be alive.
------------------------------
Another poem that may be of interest is "Memories of Memories," or the importance of keeping a family photo album/scrapbook.
Memories of Memories
I remember many memories,
But there comes a time at last,
I lose those recollections,
Of things and days long past.
Bringing to my aging mind,
Thoughts of people I once knew,
Locations that I visited,
Places that I once flew.
Now it is those memories,
That tend to fly away,
So I pause to write them down,
Find pictures that show that day.
Across the years my thoughts are strewn,
Of people, places, events,
And I wonder just how soon,
My memories won’t make sense.
A day I will be wondering,
What really happened when,
Of who did what to who I knew
And why it happened then.
So write them down, make a list.
Of memories you now treasure,
Not only benefits you, my friend,
But your family beyond measure.
It helps to every now and then,
Look back and then recall,
People who helped along the way,
And how you did it all.
The little things that we ignored,
The challenges we braved,
All of those are memories,
That should somehow be saved.
We call them up and write them down.
Find pictures that we took,
Identify folks from left to right,
And fill the old scrapbook.
In days to come we will enjoy,
Seeing things we had forgotten,
The people we at one time knew,
The paths that we had trodden.
A handheld scrapbook may now seem quaint,
But it may be worth a look,
Cause when memories become memories,
It becomes your favorite book.
