I’m scared because I don’t know how to comfort her anymore.
I’m scared because when I go and visit her ,
she does this trick of making out like her eyes have glazed over into a dark,shut, emerald door.
I can’t see inside. I try to peek through the key hole, carefully.
There is seemingly no one there.
Vacant. a word chastened in hyperbole.
The remnants of a body is clearly still in front of me.
I only sit and stare.
I hear a sound – high pitched screams.
It sounds like there is a disturbing altercation going on in there.
A neighbour breathes and passes by , leaving only a scented whisper of
” Feed her chocolate. It keeps her subdued”.
Fair trade Chocolate does not seem like the ethical solution to end a deplorable mental feud.
The air is thick with my punctuated words.
the neighbour screams,
Red, furious and right up in my face-
“BECAUSE THEN YOU WON’T HAVE TO KEEP UP YOUR NOBLE ATTEMPTS TO MAKE OUT SHE IS STILL A PART OF US HUMANS SPACE“
Look at her .
I kiss her head and she flirts with that smile.
The neighbour shakes his head.
“All she does is mumble like a car spluttering ,trying to clock one last mile”.
“It would be kinder if they actually just stopped and kept her underfed.”
Oh really, if she doesn’t understand then why the hell did she lash out to hit me ?
She saw her ring on my finger .
If she is only a shell then why do such emotions come out like she is an venomous, angered Bee?
“I wish she would go. It is no existence”.
Yes, it is hard to see her exist like this but the only the alternative you suggest is that me ,you and her have even more distance.
Maybe I am selfish,
but nobody really knows how much she knows.
Just because she can’t speak or walk or do much anymore .
it doesn’t meant everyone can just talk around her like a she is a retard.
It doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel our ignorance like fists pummelling her heart in fierce blows.
I see the image of her in bed , sleeping with her Teddy bear.
I can’t take my eyes away from it and just pretend that this is what it is and carry on like I don’t care.
I don’t cry. I try .
I don’t try . I cry.
If it was me in her place,
I would make sure I had a will that specified I decided when I wanted to dissipate into another state or place.
(For my Gran. Dementia is ……. I am at a loss for words)
Posted on Jun 1, 2016, in EXPERIMENTAL WRITING and tagged Dementia, Emotions, EXPERIMENTAL WRITING, Family matters, Free will, Mental Wellbeing, Overcoming Writers Block, Thoughts, Write to create. Bookmark the permalink. 52 Comments.