Hello everyone,
I havent been on here for a few years but I regularly check in. Ive had a few awful months. My mum and dad both passed away within 6 weeks of eachother. My beautiful mum has had alzheimers since she was 48 years old and died age 63 two weeks ago. My Dad aged 66, her carer for 15 years, died of cancer within 3 weeks of diagnosis now 8 weeks ago. He failed to recognise the signs of bowel cancer as he was so intent on looking after my mum. I looked after both of them and cared for them at the end of their lives. It breaks my heart.
Last year my dad took his GCSE English to keep his mind active whilst my eldest daughter was taking hers. He discovered a new side of himself and really enjoyed literature and poetry. One morning he woke up with a poem that had to be written. I wanted to share it with you as it has moved so many people. I read it out at his funeral and i hung it on the wall above mums bed for the last few weeks of her life. I am keen to get it published but dont know where to start. This poem is his words, his experience, his heart ache. Its very moving and i owe it to my parents to show it to others who arent as fortunate to be able to put it into words.
Do you know what its like?
This poem is my call to arms
To acknowledge a new day and to quickly build my wall,
I check to see if my lovely wife is still here to be loved
Cope with daily chores and tribulations, used to be shared,
And worry about the soundness of my own mind.
This poem is my tour of duty
To deal with the marquetry and veneered concern
Of friends, family and officialdom.
Be strong and capable on the outside,
Dealing with the tide and maze of emotions inside.
This poem is my devotion to love
No one has ever dared peek into my shell
Even i daren't look, just feeling the hurt.
I sometimes ponder and try to justify,
Ethics of prolonging suffering. Not my call.
This poem is my call to the Samaritans
To finish the day with uncertainty for the future,
And deal with the inner emptiness and loneliness,
Luckily my tears are free
Otherwise i would be a pauper.
This poem is my emotional compost bin and ode to Alzheimers
By John Martin 1947-2013
I hope this doesnt upset anyone. My mum and Dad are my inspiration. I miss them more than anyone can imagine. I just dont want them to be forgotten, and maybe this poem will continue their legacy? I'd love everyones feedback?!
Thanks,
Mandy Williams
I havent been on here for a few years but I regularly check in. Ive had a few awful months. My mum and dad both passed away within 6 weeks of eachother. My beautiful mum has had alzheimers since she was 48 years old and died age 63 two weeks ago. My Dad aged 66, her carer for 15 years, died of cancer within 3 weeks of diagnosis now 8 weeks ago. He failed to recognise the signs of bowel cancer as he was so intent on looking after my mum. I looked after both of them and cared for them at the end of their lives. It breaks my heart.
Last year my dad took his GCSE English to keep his mind active whilst my eldest daughter was taking hers. He discovered a new side of himself and really enjoyed literature and poetry. One morning he woke up with a poem that had to be written. I wanted to share it with you as it has moved so many people. I read it out at his funeral and i hung it on the wall above mums bed for the last few weeks of her life. I am keen to get it published but dont know where to start. This poem is his words, his experience, his heart ache. Its very moving and i owe it to my parents to show it to others who arent as fortunate to be able to put it into words.
Do you know what its like?
This poem is my call to arms
To acknowledge a new day and to quickly build my wall,
I check to see if my lovely wife is still here to be loved
Cope with daily chores and tribulations, used to be shared,
And worry about the soundness of my own mind.
This poem is my tour of duty
To deal with the marquetry and veneered concern
Of friends, family and officialdom.
Be strong and capable on the outside,
Dealing with the tide and maze of emotions inside.
This poem is my devotion to love
No one has ever dared peek into my shell
Even i daren't look, just feeling the hurt.
I sometimes ponder and try to justify,
Ethics of prolonging suffering. Not my call.
This poem is my call to the Samaritans
To finish the day with uncertainty for the future,
And deal with the inner emptiness and loneliness,
Luckily my tears are free
Otherwise i would be a pauper.
This poem is my emotional compost bin and ode to Alzheimers
By John Martin 1947-2013
I hope this doesnt upset anyone. My mum and Dad are my inspiration. I miss them more than anyone can imagine. I just dont want them to be forgotten, and maybe this poem will continue their legacy? I'd love everyones feedback?!
Thanks,
Mandy Williams