Rose had traveled with us
to Harry’s funeral, shared a room.
Noises woke me. The chain was off, the door ajar, open
to the outside. I’m supposed to be with Loraine
soothing hugs reassurances I just wanted to go downstairs
All day I wavered, but finally called trying to explain
tenderly, gently. I stopped for breath, her son, Joe filled the space.
Glad you called. She covers up so well.
Has notes all over the house to prevent forgetting
.
She shouldn’t be driving I know.
Did she dress up? Sometimes she looks like a bag lady.
Some of the kids want to believe that nothing is wrong
but then they don’t see her every day like I do.
She loves to play count the cars with the little ones
red car blue car She’s never been really sick
and boasts eight kids are all I ever had
Guess Alzheimer’s has come to call and refuses to leave.
Tonight I had a call from her daughter, Margie
needing information about her siblings: ages, illnesses…
Going to take her in for a memory evaluation tomorrow
Will see a neurologist social worker
Dear Lord, you can’t do this---she’s my sister!
If she is failing, so am I! Last week I couldn’t
remember Carl’s last name. I should know it!
And where did I put that recipe for cowboy cookies? Damn!.
Rose had 80 good years
not enough,
never enough.
Loraine Brink