Laughter cannot stop it
Love does not slow it
We tried grief, a sense of betrayal–
We raged.

Still, everything we held precious grew porous
The edges slipped away
Scrabbling for purchase, we forgot

Memory, the ephemeral of which we are composed
That beloved dog’s name

The dog herself
Our fifties–never before remarkable
Retreating through the past

Erasing as the marker moved back
Identity disintegrates

Spouse and children ghosts
No names

Pull away
Where is

Photo copyright Hold Fast Photography 2016


One thought on “Dementia

  1. I, being officially old now, have mused upon the question of why we die incrementally while clinging, or being forced to cling, to the last vestige of life. I have a working hypothesis : life is the one demonstrable miracle and must, therefore, be revered. However, should I become unconscious of life, demented beyond awareness, ought I cling or be forced to cling? It will have ceased to have meaning, that question, when I reach that state so I don’t bother with it. Instead, I take pains to remain aware, to study the avoidance of dimentia through various means.
    Yes, I will die. Let me be aware to the final impulse. A goal for the end game.


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