The Worst Part is the End #elderly

a wheelchair

“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.”

***

I have fictionalized this dialogue I had over and over with one of my in-home care patients. I loved the stories she could relay clearly of the past. So we would linger there: over her father’s Croix du guerre (from world war 1), old pictures of family, her husband’s extensive library…

Rings of Time #poetry #photography

 

spotlight redwoods

 

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!!!!

rings

 

This poem is pulled from my 2010 archives and shared with today’s poetry pantry.poets united

Life’s Canvas #art #poetry #photography

lane to the stable

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.

The Rings Of Time #poetry #FlashFiction

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

Reality Check

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