Like grains of sand falling through an hour-glass, the days and weeks run away, each grain diminishes us.
Dementia and cancer march steadily on, each making it’s presence felt in it’s own way. If this were a race I don’t know which would be the winner, but I know, too well, who will be the loser, and I can only sit and watch and, at times, weep for her. Such communication, as we now have, is mainly through expression and tone, meaningful words are long gone. What we now have is a jumble of words and half-words, half-sung to the tune of ‘Bless them all’. Yes, well, I am so glad it’s not ‘i’m a pink tooth brush.’
But there! I am forgetting touch. At times, just holding hands can, I think and hope, give great comfort in both directions.
When at dementia’s door you weep,
And plumb the depth of your despair.
When darkness settles round you,
And you cannot see your way.
When you look about for help.
And find you’re on your own.
When you live alone in silence.
And that silent scream is yours.
When time seems at a standstill,
And each moment lasts an age.
When you want to re-live yesterday,
And would give away today.
When you’ve nearly cut and run,
And betrayed your marriage vow.
Take heart; though now you doubt it.
Of all things it can be said,
This too shall pass.
I’m not sure about the last three lines.