I am very old now, slumped in chair.
Of her face, I am no longer aware.
Is this even my home, don’t think so?
I recall my home, all those years ago.
But ‘I live here now’ is what they say.
Words they repeat 10 times a day.
I’ll be told again at bedtime for sure.
But I still dream of my old front door.
The morning comes, dressed and fed.
‘This is your home’ the first thing said.
Somebody to see me, face rings a bell.
That voice is familiar, but just can’t tell.
With a big hug and kiss, off she goes.
But why is she crying…nobody knows.
(the devastating effects of dementia)