by Edie Melson
Now gray and indistinct.
Kept alive through stories, discussion, remembrances
Words, once a rushing river of abundance,
Now trickle through a small stream bed
Stumbling over rocks
Stuttering to a stop in stagnant pools of
An image, once a perfect composition,
Now missing the parts that made him whole.
Awkwardly fit together,
A cruel caricature of the man he
Time, once a ribbon unbroken from past to present to future,
Now frayed and torn,
Beyond mending, but precious for the parts
Times past, slowly fading, disappear
Into murky shadows,
A book being unwritten
Day by day.
Glimpses of the hero he is
Shine through the dim light in his eyes
Moments of recognition,
Treasures of the past.
I know this is normally where I post my Weekend Worship. But I wrote this as I try to come to terms with the encroaching dementia of someone I love. Perhaps you've found yourself struggling with a similar situation.