by Edie Melson
His world—once
painted in vibrant colors with wide brush strokes—now only grays,
hazy and indistinct.
Memories, remembrances, grown dim.
Life now, only
a reflection of the black and white images he once captured.
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
Forgetfulness.
A father and
husband, once a perfect composition,
Now missing the
parts that made him whole.
Awkwardly fit
together,
A cruel
caricature of who he once was.
Time, once a
ribbon unbroken from past to present to future.
Now frayed and
torn,
Beyond mending,
but precious for the parts
That remain.
Experiences once shared,
slowly fading, disappear into murky shadows,
A book being
unwritten
Day by day.
Glimpses of the
hero he is shines through the dim light in his eyes.
Moments of
recognition,
Treasures of the
past.
I wrote this as I tried to come to terms with the encroaching dementia of someone I love. Perhaps you've found yourself struggling with a similar situation.