|and the old door shuts one last time|
remember me? The baby girl she had so long ago, held for countless hours, lost sleep over..NowI am a mere shadow. I saw Cindy on TV she told my brother. And after the first visit, she never
asked for me again. She didn’t remember me coming there in the flesh, holding her in my arms, whispering in her ear..it’s gonna be alright Ma. But is it? This is where the elderly end up...after all those years of struggle and pain and heartache and abuse and suffering and laughing and crying. Oh yes. Crying.
Years and years and buckets of tears and rivers of tears flowing endlessly out of those cloudy eyes. And
now? Now what? All those years of saving and sacrificing and not spending a penny on the nice things..the money saved so carefully...the sacrifices made for what? Adult diapers and a tiny hospital bed in a stifling, airless room with the noises and wails of others...suffering equally.The woman who never shared a secret with anyone is now living among strangers where there
are no secrets. All the dirty laundry is aired out right there in front of everyone.
Partners in wheelchairs and walkers. Roomates. Wailing like infants in a maternity ward. Get me
out of here. No longer able to walk...talk...think clearly or think at all...back to crawling and crying
and wearing diapers.
91 years is a long time to live. Sometimes too long a time to live and in the case of my mother the tears
and agony and wishing for things better carries on still. I’m still on my knees...I’m still praying for
something better... for the pain to end for her...and us.