Dementia is a Thief
She looks the same…
Yet she is changed.
Is it the way she looks at me?
Pleading? Confused?
Her eyes are the same shape; the same colour,
Yet they are not the same.
Not blank or hollow,
Just frightened; like she knows.
My mother is going away
Although she is still sitting there,
In the same old chair,
She is going away slowly,
Bit by bit…
She still knows me today,
But for how long?
I miss her already.
I used to pick up the phone every day,
Look forward to our chats,
Her support and advice.
It is so hard to lose all that
It feels like a void
She’s still there, in her chair
But she’s not.
As cruel as a coma, yet worse,
Because at least, with a coma,
There would be hope
She might wake up and be okay
This stage is the worst for her
Because she knows that something is wrong
Her world is a puzzle,
With important pieces missing
She cannot find the words
To explain or ask for help.
My mother cries,
And I cry too because I cannot help her
Like she always helped me.
I can only hug her
Hold her hand, kiss her frozen cheek,
Dementia is stealing my mother.
©Lorraine Surringer 2018
