I Miss My Mother

As Mother's Day approached this year, I became very sullen. After about a week, I realised that it was because I missed my mother. She was such a vibrant woman, a social butterfly, a loyal friend and generous hostess. My mother is still alive, living an empty existence without the memories of her experiences that made up who she was. Now this shell that used to house my mother is pacing a hall in a medical facility with other Alzheimer's patients. Her personality has been snatched from her, and I miss her terribly.

I wrote this poem the day before Mother's Day. I post it now.


Mother

You have forgotten
that I have come to see you,
as you walk
to the end of the hall,
and smile at old men
in wheelchairs
and toothless women
shuffling their bed slippers
on the sterile floor.
As you pass me
on your way back,
you slide a glance
over my face
with the eyes of a stranger
and smile, empty.

I still hear your voice
as you call for me
to stop climbing trees
and scaling fences.
I see your smiles
as you follow the lines
of my latest poem,
were they the handstands
and back walkovers
in my competitions.
I still watch you picking out
the choicest pieces of meat
for my plate.
I feel your laughter
that still rides
the beat of some popular tune
you dance to.

And you don’t know how fast
I hold on to the remnants
of what your mind has let go,
misplaced, erased of yourself,
as you walk to the end
of the hall.