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"Certified"

Bewildered
you drifted into a Nomen nescio
sphere of the mind.
Undefined space packed
with psychedelic images,
tragicomic paradoxes.

Regression to an earlier time
of diapers, drool,
goodies and night terrors.
Doctors say you’re chancy,
might set the house afire,
slash me with the kitchen knife.

I whispered ‘Till tomorrow, honey’
and tears welled in my eyes:
your mortifying ‘G’night, Mother’
stabbed at my heart.
Wayward, outsize babe,
snatched from my arms.

There’s a void in our home,
a ‘What now’?
Twenty married years,
so ephemeral,
a fleeting presence by my side.

Our cat dusts
book-lined corridors
with her Siamese fur,
ponders ‘Don Quixote’ yearningly,
then whiskers your pillows
or sleeps under them.

She and I need our zany cavalier,
even if you've been
"certified".

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Last few words: 
This poem is about my late husband, Carlos, who suffered from dementia during 15 years.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

story, that is now a reality for me. My mother is now showing signs of dementia. Frotunately, she is in a safe place in a nursing home, where one of my sisters works. It isn't bad just yet; she drifts in and out of lucidity. She has days where she is 'normal' and doesn't remember the accusations of "the staff is trying to poison me." or I want to go home and get my things, why won't you let me go home?" Two of my sisters are in denial and say that she just needs medicine and she will be fine; the rest of us know the inevitable and just want to make peace with the facts. I'm afraid that it is going to tear our family apart. Thanks for a sane look at the truth and the undying love it takes to care for such a person. ~ Geez.
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Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

Good morning, Geez. So sorry about your mother. Yes, some people are in denial about these things, as if it were shameful. I cared for my husband during 7 years, but it became impossible. The nursing home was nearby and relatives and friends helped pay for the cost. He didn't accuse the staff, mainly he'd fall in love with some pretty nurse! She would then be removed to another floor...lol. That's sad. Once Carlos introduced me to a lady inmate with whom he said he was married, even tho' he told her that I was his wife! His mind worked in strange ways. He wasn't aggressive at all. It's also common to be called "mother" by men with dementia. As you know, his lasted 15 years. The last months were horrible...
Thanks for reading and commenting, I never seem to be able to chat with you people. Best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

a wonderful but sad write, beginning with the so applicable Latin term for "I do not know the name," then to be concluded with your cat that who also seems to miss your "certified" cavalier. Reminds me to re-read the demented Don Quixote in my bookcase.
Be well, stay happy, Gracy. JerryK

Hello Jerry, thanks for appraising my poem. I wrote it long ago, when Carlos was still in the Buenos Aires nursing home. His life ended nearby, where I live now, near Bariloche.
Glad you like the title and content. My husband read Don Quixote twice, in the original old Spanish! Shows how a brilliant mind can dwindle down to "certified". The cat was a present from his daughter.
Thanks for stopping by. Hey, I wish Carlos had had Don Quixote's kind of madness! Best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Powerful and you have provided a front row seat for what it must be like. I hear the cry for normality in here. An excellent poem.

Imagery outstanding as ever

Thank you...Teddy

Hello Teddy, thanks for stopping by and taking a front seat. Oh yes, I really wished for normality, but it was not to be. The signs had been around for several years, then a stupid surgeon said he needed an urgent heart operation. The anaesthesia triggered the serious dementia. I had objected, but my husband signed the papers. It was his third heart surgery, but it could have waited and he would not have suffered 15 years of dementia. Sorry for going on about this. All the best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

My dad from age 86-91 when he died. (Mom died in April this year, at 98, from COVID) This is a good poem about it.
I do grief counselling from time to time and use poetry as a recourse to cope. So I have read a lot of poems and journals about dementia, and written about it myself. To live with someone that long with Dementia... o so sad and hard. You have written a very fine poem about it, that really resonates.

It took several years, now I can finally remember my father before dementia, the uncaged raging bull who loved opera, not the man in the wheel chair who did not know me. Finally I have found some peace. I wish you the same.

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Dear Emou, so sorry to hear your mother died from Covid. At least she had a very long life. May she R.I.P. and my condolences to you and your family. So your Dad also had dementia? That's tough, losing both parents in, I understand, a brief period of time. So sorry.
Thank you for commenting my poem. I wrote it while Carlos was still alive. I have several about his life at home (7 years with dementia) and the rest about his time in a nursing home.
I think poetry, music and singing is great for all sick people. At the nursing home, a party was held every Friday. People who seemed "frozen" would get up and dance, with excellent rhythm, even singing old songs. The nurses and the fat cook would join in. So good for them!
I'm satisfied that my poem resonates with you. Yes, dementia comes to anybody, whether super intelligent or just "normal", whatever that is. I also remember my husband as a highly intelectual but loving person. It's true that he was always an eccentric, but I don't believe it has anything to do with his getting dementia.
Yes, I think I've found peace, same as you. Trouble is, not a day passes without my thinking of him and my two sons, who died so young. I've accepted but not forgotten.
Peace, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

just to let you know that I had sent you my reply to your comment on another thread but I doubt you have received it. My computer seems to be messed up. So sorry, dear Gracy. Jerry

Dear Jerry, don't worry, I suppose I read it and answered. I also get mixed up and my computer is in need of repair, same as yours. I may be able to call a technician, but not sure, the person would probably be from Bariloche, where there is still a fair amount of Covid. Not in my area, cross fingers.
Thanks and take care, best, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

''Remember Thanks giving mama up there''

Please read my older poem now
contains a message especially for you

from old friend joe
ON DEMENTIA
now I also am in
Q

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