Eudora

This is an old poem I wrote when my grandmother was beginning to deteriorate with early onset Alzheimer’s.  As it happens, and as life goes, my grandfather became suddenly ill not long after this with a severe brain tumour and passed away a year before my grandma.   This was my imagining life without her….

We deal in fragments

We deal in fragments because we have little else. Some are beautiful, shining, concentrated; some are ever more striking than the imperfect whole. But precious fragments, delicate and unique, are fractured from her being every day. Broken off and discarded without her consent. We try to catch them desperately but they fall much faster than…

The progression

Things are progressing, I know. Despite my trying to breathe in every detail of the moment in some childlike hope of preserving it–the shop-bought fragrance that releases in occasional puffs from beneath the hostess trolley by the door, the warm rumblings of the cat’s belly against my thigh, the silenced tennis match on the TV,…

The lady in the mirror

I read a true, short story in an Alzheimer’s version of Chicken Soup for the Soul that touched me deeply. My beloved grandma, Dora, is currently in the latter stages of this terrible disease, so I am doing a lot of reading around the subject, as well as experiencing first-hand the strangeness, the suffering, the…

Eudora

This beautiful lady, Eudora (Dora) is my grandmother.  She has Alzheimer’s.  She turned 85 on the 17th of August this year and, in the past two weeks, her mobility has decreased to very little, her speech is slurred and she sleeps much of the time.  She can barely lift her chin from her chest.  It…