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Inside Dementia

Inside Dementia

– Poetry by Suzanne Eaton –

He enters the room so glad to see me
rushes to look into my eyes,
happy to talk with me and find me there.
How kind and excited he is to receive
my companionship in full awareness.
Oh yes, everything is going to be ok,
I’m back and there you are waiting for me.
What happened? I ask rhetorically.
(I have that disease that takes my being away
from both of us and leaves me trapped in that
dark place where I can’t engage or go forward.)
But, here and now, I remember everything!
My life seems abstract and surreal,
but I am seeing it and hearing your words.
–I know what they mean! My mind is unclouded
and I have my bearings–I’m back!
You hold my hand and touch my face
and I see your heart reaching out to me.
I remember our love. I remember our lives.
Where did all the time go?
Where did our busy routine go?
Why are we stopped right here? Stopped cold.
Are you ok? Are you lonely?
It is astonishing to look into your eyes–
I feel our connection right down to my toes.
It is wonderous to feel so safe,
to feel that things are as they should be.
Just for a moment, I am not late, not lacking, not
struggling to figure out where I am supposed to be
and what I am supposed to offer.
Are you taking care of yourself? Feeling well?
Tell me, how are the kids and grandkids?
Did Kim get the job at the city office?
How’s school going for Heather?
I’ll bet little Amy is walking now.
Does she still look just like her mother?
Did John get engaged to Kristi?
Did you all get together for the holidays?
Is Kelly’s truck still running?
Have you talked to Ben? Is he doing ok?
Do you have any pictures?
Can we call them? Say a prayer?
Have you seen my light blue sweater?
Please tell them I love them and miss them.
Do you think there will be a place
…after this…after I die?
I must look a mess, where is my…brush?
…my purse? What time is it?
Can you take me out to dinner?
Oh, I…is there room to…
I need a…what is this place?
You are my…husband…right?
No, you can’t be him.
Is God mad at me?
There’s a…what is it called?
There…outside the…glassky thing…
Never mind.
I feel the lost expression
over taking my face.
I’m trying to…I am so sorry.
Please hold on to me…find my words.
What? I see tears leave your eyes
but I feel them roll down my cheeks.
I’m just so…sorry…sad.
 
Who knows when I will see you again?

About the Author – Suzanne Eaton
Suzanne Eaton

Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written corporate stories, customer profiles, promotional copy, and content for magazines. She writes fervidly about life, love, health, relationships and the human family. Most recently, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, The Purpled Nail, The Silent World in Her Vase, Scarlet Leaf Review, Rue Scribe, eris & eros, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, and The Elevation Review have selected her work for publication. 

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