The Unseen Army
It's kind of amazing,
That you can have friends,
You never knew you had.
In days of loneliness,
When your mood feels flat,
As a piece of paper,
Pressed to the bottom of a coffee cup,
Down in the dumps,
Like the waitress that clears it.
When every crayon breaks,
As you press it to the paper.
On days when every,
Of the clouds that fill your day,
It can be easy,
All the unseen people.
All the little nooks and crannies,
Where the friends you,
Never knew you had,
Wait for the day,
When they can be there,
It's hard to remember,
All that have loved you.
All that still do.
When your vision narrows,
At the injustices you face.
When your eyes are blurred with tears,
You won't let yourself cry.
It's hard to see,
The ones that will,
To fight the army,
At your door.
To fight any battle,
You need them to.
The unseen army,
The lots and lots of people,
Who love you.
The people who'd never,
Let you go,
Even when you don't,
Remember to love them,
As they deserve.
When you look around,
Can you see them?
The ones waiting with a kind word,
The bring all the colors of a bright bird,
Into the stormy skies,
That have darkened your vision.
If you can't see them,
What you've missed.
As you passed them,
In the hallway?
Who said hello?
Who asked you how,
Who told you they liked,
What you've chosen to wear,
Or what you said?
Any little tiny thing can show,
That they think of you.
That you crossed their mind.
And if they did these things,
They have paid attention,
All the unseen love.
The hidden army,
You know nothing of.
Waiting in the shadows,
For the day,
You need them.
When you feel alone,
What you've forgotten.
Who you've forgotten.
How likely is it,
There is more love,
Than you could ever see.
And if you ever,
Cannot see enough,
What are you,
I find it unbelievable, that we can feel so alone. I know we do. I know I do. There were a lot of reminders for me today that that isn't the case. There are always more who love you, than you are able to see. Love is a powerful thing, and it isn't going to just not be there because time passes, or because you don't know a person extremely well. You can't know everything about a person, and you don't need to to love them. It is amazing that we can be so loved, by so many people, even if we have barely ever even spoken to them. Love is the strongest, and often, most unbelievable of emotions.
“It’s amazing!” Cyrus shouted. He sprinted into the lab and skidded to a stop in front of a giant holo-screen that took up half the room. “We finally found it. Life on another planet!”
His colleagues gathered round him in front of the 3D image; an alien forest of bluish leaves and dark red trunks. Vibrant redwood ramps crisscrossed between intricate log houses.
And a people that resembled deer gathered in front of it all, staring out at them with large, wide-set eyes. They had delicate antlers, soft-looking, tawny fur and short, fine muzzles.
Deeren, Cyrus had heard them called.
Primitive Race, he thought, as he examined their houses. Skilled blends of different woods, ranging from near black to bone white. But still, only basic wood.
The Deeran at the front of the group spoke. Cyrus felt a start as he realized it was speaking English. “What do you want on our planet?”
It seemed to be a female, with a soft voice and fine antlers that curved around each other in an intricate web.
Cyrus put up his hands. “We don’t mean harm. Just want to explore and learn from each other.”
The Deeran perked her small ears forward, a friendly gesture, it seemed. “Then, we invite you here for an exchange of cultures.”
The crowd around the holo-screen exploded into cheers.
Cyrus was startled. That fast? How did she know she could trust them?
Perhaps these people trusted far too easily.
Brand-new, space-bending travel brought Cyrus through a wormhole to the Deeren planet. Within a day, he was in the very place he’d stared at thorough the holo-screen, walking along redwood ramps with that same female Deeran he’d spoken to.
“My name is Fauna,” she said, as they left the ramps and houses to walk along a path of packed, black earth. The bluish foliage grew thick overhead, and a rich, floral pine scent filled the air.
“You are filming this, no doubt,” Fauna said, as Cyrus spun for a 360 view of the forest.
“Of course.” The tiny devices in his corneas recorded everything in immersive detail. Everyone back home was watching in real-time. “This it too historic not to record.”
“Your technology is impressive.”
“I know.” Cyrus jumped back as a creature darted from the woods to stand stalk-still in front of them, head down, hackles raised. It flashed ivory teeth and let out a menacing sound somewhere between a snarling wolf and a roaring lion.
The back of Cyrus’s neck prickled and his hands went numb. “W-what is that thing?” It had a black mane, a shot muzzle, and sinewy muscle bunched beneath short golden fur.
“A lupine,” Fauna said, and then made the exact same growling roar the creature had.
Cyrus’s heart raced and he scrambled back another step. “Did you just…?” He stopped as the lupine relaxed and let out a strange, purring yip.
Fauna made the same noise with perfect imitation, and the creature melted back into the forest.
“That was Auren,” Fauna said. “My guardian. He was coming to make sure everything was alright.” She continued on with her graceful canter.
Cyrus stared after her for a moment, before stumbling to catch up. “You… you spoke to it.”
“Him,” she corrected. “And of course I did. Don’t you speak to other animals?”
“Not like that.”
“Strange,” Fauna said. “This is basic language arts. Now I see why humans can’t understand our language.”
“We just discovered this planet. Give us some time.” Cyrus protested. “How did you learn English so quickly?”
“I’m a communicator,” she said. “All Deeren learn basic animal languages. But then you can specialize.”
“In different Deeren languages?” Cyrus said.
She swivelled her ears in what appeared to be amusement. “Goodness, no. All Deeren understand each other.
“So, you all speak the same language?”
They broke through the thick forest into a field of yellow-green grass and winding plants that resembled colourful flowers.
Fauna picked a long, red and yellow petal. “No, we do not all speak the same language, but that does not matter. Do you need to be red in order to see it?”
Cyrus shook his head. “Wait… what?”
“For us, knowing each other’s language is as natural as seeing different colours. Only with other animals do we need to learn.”
“Oh.” Cyrus paused to admire the alien beauty of the field, as he tried to wrap his head around this.
“Are you listening to this?” said a voice connected to his mind from earth. They weren’t speaking to him, but commenting on the footage they were watching through his eyes.
“I know, right? Crazy!” Replied another.
Cyrus blocked out the voices and ran to catch up with Fauna. “Wait, so, if it’s not the language of other Deeren, what do you specialize in? It can’t be aliens. This is your first encounter.”
“Our first encounter of aliens from space,” Fauna said. “But there are other alien worlds.” She stopped and scooped up a handful of black earth from the side of the path. “The world inside here, for instance.”
Cyrus pulled up on font of her and stared at the pile of dirt in her rough, hoof-like hand. “You speak to… bacteria?”
“I think a nicer word you humans use is Microbiota.” She took Cyrus’s hand and sprinkled the dirt into his open palm. “An entire ecosystem in your hand, all interconnected. They don’t speak through words, but have their own way of communicating.”
“What do you say to them?”
“This can’t be real” said a voice in Cyrus’s head.
“Amazing,” said another.
“Fascinating,” a third added.
Cyrus was trying to block the thought comments out, but clearly some were getting through.
“I tell them different things,” said Fauna. “We send some to fight viruses, for instance.”
“Viruses?” Cyrus said. “Inside a human… Deeran body?”
“Of course.” She looked at him with those big brown eyes. “How do you cure disease?”
“Antibiotics and immunization.” Cyrus said.
“And what do those do?”
“Well, antibiotics kill everything.”
“All the bacteria inside you?”
“That is like killing all of your flowers along with the weeds.”
Cyrus laughed and strode back into a walk. “I suppose you could put it that way.” He glanced around the open field. Wild. Natural. Beautiful. The air was crisp and clear. He could feel how much cleaner it was than earth air.
“Unbelievable,” said one of the voices that sneaked past Cyrus’s mental block. “Talking to bacteria.”
Microbiota, Cyrus thought.
“Your kind have been sentient for about as long as humans,” he said to Fauna, as she trotted alonside him. “Why haven’t you advanced as much in technology?”
She swivelled her ears in that amused way, again. “We seem primitive to you.”
“No!” he said automatically. Then lowered his gaze. “Sort of.”
“There is more than one way to advance,” Fauna said. “In some ways, you seem primitive to us. Like, you humans don’t always understand each other, just because of different languages”
Cyrus sprinkled the dirt still gripped in his hand. “And we can’t communicate with other species.”
“Exactly. And, well, if you don’t mind, human. Killing an entire micro-ecosystem to eradicate one pathogen seems a bit… crude.”
Cyrus laughed again. “Fair enough.”
There was one more thing that was bothering him. “Hey, Fauna. When I told you my species meant no harm to yours, why did you accept that so… readily?”
She bounded ahead of him playfully, then turned back with her ears swiveling. “Silly human. Part of communication is emotion. What kind of communicator would I be if I couldn’t detect sincerity? You humans project emotions so strongly, it’s like reading one of your giant signs.”
Strange, how light and carefree these Deeren made him feel. He trotted to catch up with her. “You’re a lot more than you appear on the outside. How would you like to visit earth?”
She stopped and perked her ears forward. “I would love to.”
But Fauna, Cyrus really should have predicted, didn’t quite like earth.
“The air is strange,” she said, taking a laboured breath. “Like toxins mixed into it.”
“Well…” Cyrus said, leading her down the silver ramp from the space shuttle. “Our ancestors nearly destroyed Earth with pollution. We’re still dealing with the aftermath.”
“You almost destroyed your entire planet?” Fauna said, as spectators raced up to her, irises outlined in red, indicting they were recording.
“Yeah,” Cyrus said. “How about that.”
She laid hear ears back. “Unbelievable.”
“Oh, just wait,” said one of the spectators. “It gets better.”
“This is our state-of-the-art war museum,” Cyrus said, taking her through the modern alloy building. It was right beside the space lab where he’d first spoken to Fauna.
“War?” she replied, ears back.
“We… kill each other in massive numbers.”
Fauna’s ears went flat against her head. Her large brown eyes went wider than he’d ever seen, very much like a deer caught in headlights. “Why?”
“Oh, different reasons,” Cyrus muttered, taking her through 3D depictions of the world wars, the war on terror, and, most recently, the water war. “Politics. Land. Resources. Ideology.” He stopped at a holo-image of starving children. “If this was happening to your family, wouldn’t you fight?”
She rounded on him, for once, her soft eyes harsh and angry. “We would not let our own species starve while we have food.”
Right. He’d told her of the huge disparity of wealth.
Her eyes softened and she turned away from him. “Unbelievable.”
“Righteous alien, thinks she’s so superior,” muttered and angry voice in Cyrus’s head.
A chill ran up his spine. No. We can’t start thinking like that.
He took Fauna’s shoulder and turned her to face him. “Wait, you can’t tell me your species never fights.”
“Of course we do,” Fauna said. “But it does not escalate to such massacres. You told me humans are advanced, yet I see evidence to the contrary.”
“Oh, really?” said an angry voice in Cyrus’s mind. “And you’re so advanced living in treehouses, are you? With your high and mighty morals?”
“Careful what you say, Fauna.” Cyrus whispered. “You’ll make people angry.”
“Yes,” she scoffed, with a noise that sounded oddly like a horse. “I suppose the more violent among you will throw a child-like tantrum.”
“Are you listening to this?” The voices were getting louder. Harder to block out. “She’s calling us infants.”
“Who the hell does she think she is?”
“Let’s kill them all and take their planet. They kept it nice and unspoiled for us.”
“…would be so much better than living on earth.”
“We can’t do that,” another voice protested. “It’s not ours. We made a mess of this planet. We have to live with it.”
“That wasn’t us,” someone else argued. “That was our ancestors. Why do we have to pay for something they did?”
A roaring debate was going on over Cyrus’s live feed.
He grabbed Fauna by the arm. Sent out a thought-message to security.
“Already on it,” one of them replied.
Of course. They would have been listening to the thought comments on his feed.
“Fauna, we have to get you out of here.”
She looked at him with those big brown eyes, ears still back, but no longer flat on her head. “I’ve said something wrong.”
“Yes… I mean… well, what you said was offensive to some people.”
“More offensive than slaughtering each other?” She spat.
“Oh, that’s it!”
“Does she think we’re all like that?”
“Sometimes you gotta fight. You just… do!”
Cyrus clapped a hand over her mouth. “Stop, Fauna. Just stop talking. You’re making it worse.”
He took his hand off her mouth and she lowered her gaze. “I suppose I don’t understand as much as I thought I did. Some communicator I am.”
“It’s fine,” Cyrus said. “You couldn’t have known.”
Rapid-fire machine guns sounded from somewhere outside.
A guard in silvery armoured clothes raced into the room and grabbed Cyrus and Fauna. Rushed them out of the museum and into an armoured truck.
The world rang with guns and shouting, outside.
“We’ll get you back the ship!” A driver shouted over the noise.
The guard got into the back with them, talking to someone through mind connection. “What do you mean, highjacked?” He said suddenly. “Where were the sentries?!” He gripped his head and his eyes met Fauna. “The ship to your home is gone.”
Cyrus felt like a boulder had just crashed through his stomach.
Faunas ears went flat against her head. “What would they want with the ship?”
“Worst-case scenario, they attack your planet.”
She nodded, as if expecting this. “You can reach my people with your technology?”
“Yes,” Cyrus said. “But I don’t see how-”
“Tell them to prepare defensive measures. They’ll understand what it means.”
“But, your people can’t fight,” said the guard. “That spaceship isn’t armed, but I’m sure the hijackers have weapons.”
“Just do it,” she said.
Cyrus was skeptical. Worried sick for Fauna’s species. They seemed so peaceful. So innocent and vulnerable. He wondered what possible good it would do, as the guard put a message through.
One day and a space-jump later, Bane landed on an alien planet and led his crew out to the lush foliage, the fresh air, the pristine environment outside. Insult us, we take your planet! He lifted his rifle, knelt and glanced through the scope.
The forest was quiet, only a faint rustle sounding through the giant bluish leaves.
Through his scope, Bane saw wood houses among the thick branches. Caught sight of an antlered head. There you are.
But then something happened.
His vision blurred, his head started pounding, and he lost all motor control. His rifle swung down in a shaky arc as he pulled the trigger, bullet shooting far wide of its target.
Other gunshots sounded around him, but Bane barely noticed. He didn’t even wonder if they’d hit their target, as he dropped his rifle and staggered around blindly. “I can’t see. I can’t see!”
All round him, his crew was shouting the same thing.
Blackness overtook him. His head felt like it was being ripped in half. He screamed until something seemed to grab his chest and squeeze, pressing the air right out of his lungs.
He clutched his throat. Stumbled to the ground as he struggled to breathe.
As he thrashed and gasped, he heard a rustle of leaves beside him, and a growl that sounded somewhere between a snarling wolf and a roaring lion.
A sharp stab of agony in his neck.
And then, nothing.
“What did you do?” Cyrus said, watching the holo-image as the hijackers dropped like writhing flies. Then lupines darted out of the forest to finish them off. “I mean, I know a communicator sent bacteria to attack, but how did you know they’d be deadly to humans?”
“They evolved,” Fauna said.
“Right inside the hijackers?”
“Well, no.” Fauna looked at him. “They’ve seen humans, before.”
He stared at her, sickness churning in his stomach. “When you put that dirt in my hand, you sent them inside me.”
“Only to understand how your anatomy works… and prepare for any possible invasion.”
“But… it was still such a short time.” It had only been a week since Cyrus landed on their planet.
“Bacteria evolve fast,” Fauna said. “You know that. They routinely become immune to your antibiotics. Guide their evolution, and you can expediate it.”
Cyrus shook his head. He’d thought they were primitive, but they’d learned to harness a tiny force of nature humans were only beginning to understand. “I thought you were peaceful.”
“Peaceful,” Fauna said. “Not foolish. Our actions were purely defensive.”
“And brutally effective.” Said the guard beside them.
Cyrus met his eyes and nodded. “Unbelievable,” he thought, with a confusing mix of emotions.
Police officer; “Excuse me, Ma’am...” (gently knocks on the window).
Female driver: (rolls down her window) “Ah- (clears throat) yes. Is there a problem, officer?”
The police officer turns his flashlight toward her face and gasps. The woman has an extra eye, right on her forehead.
Female driver: (smiles) “Oh, do not worry about my other ‘eye’.” The officer stepped back and reached for his gun.
The woman’s ‘eye’ blinked and a burst of bright golden light shot through it. *ZAP*
The police officer was knocked down. He placed his hand on his forehead and screamed. The eye’s blast had penetrated through his skull and the police officer felt like his brain had been electrocuted.
The woman stepped out of her car and bent down near the police officer. She shook her head and stared at him with all her three eyes.
Police officer: (grunts) “You’re going to regret using your ‘eye’ to hurt me.”
“Oh, (chuckles) well, then we shall see about that Otheyo.”
Otheyo: “How do you know my name?”
The woman got up, stood straight and smirked.
“You and I have met before, you just always forget. But I can’t help it, whenever our paths cross, we always end up in some kind of fight. Most of the times, I can easily defeat you and then we move on till we meet again.”
Otheyo did not feel anymore pain, he placed his hand on his forehead. Not only was his wound gone, it had healed so rapidly that there was not even any scar where he had been hit.
He looked around for the woman, or the car. They had vanished without a trace.
Lundi, 30 septembre, 2019.
Van Gogh’s Ear
The space is blurred
I see men in the fur of red birds
yellow clocks wearing hats
are sitting at the table
mirrors are laughing at me
things are ticking
in the echo of chaos
in doubled dimensions
the sea of colours
is shaping sadness
I feel so lonely
in my locked reality
Naked in the Rain
He wandered down the lonely path, phone in hand and ready to go. This time, he would get that picture.
Soft drops dripped delicately from softer leaves onto a sodden path of brown. Autumn had covered this once green place and now winter was lurking behind the clouds.
As he passed through the clearing, the lake opened up before him. Calm and cool, but rippled by the gentle rain, dropping tears into the pool of life.
Sitting on a soaking log, he closed his eyes and imagined. This was how it started.
And soon, the music drifted through the trees, a breeze of enchantment. He could feel the change. Opening his eyes he saw her.
Tall and blonde, with perfect beauty.
She smiled at him, holding his eyes carefully in her own.
As he stood up, he gasped.
She was naked.
Before, she had always been clothed, a long dress of white. Hugging but hiding her figure.
But now her wet hair flowed over her shoulders and lay carefully on her naked breasts. Her flat, white stomach moving like a snake to the music.
And down. Her perfect legs swayed like tall grass in a summer wind.
And she danced.
In the rain.
Holding his eyes carefully in her own
She danced toward him, step by enticing step.
His phone, meant to capture this impossible sight, fell from his hand and floated to the path of brown leaves as she reached out to him.
Almost without moving, she unbuttoned his shirt, which fell away unbidden. The fresh rain, falling on his bare chest was like shards of electricity, waking up his soul.
Again, with barely a wave of her hand, she removed his trousers and then took his hand. Her touch, like ice, tingled every nerve.
As her eyes held his, carefully in her own.
He stepped forward, somehow leaving behind his old grey shoes.
And she smiled, sending suns crashing through his world and flames soaring in his mind. The world changed and he saw through her eyes, the beauty and the magic of untold hidden realms.
And he danced, with her, naked in the rain, as they moved together, united in love.
And they danced into the lake, slowly submerging, bodies touching as the water took them.
And they kissed an eternal kiss that meant forever love.
And the world changed.
“Come and wash away the pain, step into the blessed rain
give a helping hand to fate
the rain will make you whole.”
Inspired by the song title:
Doctor became patient & vice versa
Doctor became patient & vice versa
One engineer was going to an ENT specialist for hair fall treatment once in 2 months. Once in the course of speaking,
Doctor: The hair grows by 0.2 mm/day.
Doctor got frightened, but without showing that,
“Doctor is me or you?”
Patient: It’s you only, I don’t deny. Just because you are MBBS & MD should I agree if you tell that donkey has 8 legs? Then if I tell the same thing to others, they will take me to the mental hospital. Is it not?
Doctor got frightened and changed the topic.
Engineer: On your hand some white patch is there. Shall I suggest some green medicine to you?
And now what?
What am I supposed to do?
They are gone.
All gone, never to return.
He left, walked out that door.
I could still hear his footsteps
She was his victim.
I could still hear her screams.
They, they ran. They didn't get far before the guns killed them.
I can still feel their fear.
She, the other girl, she ended it all, for herself.
I can still feel her cuts.
Me? I am sitting here, after the bomb went off.
My ears ring, my eyes sting.
The blood softly trickles down my cheek.
But I'm too numb to pay attention to that.
They, they took anything I needed, anything I wanted.
I stood, wiping soot from my forehead, with my left arm.
My right arm was limp, broken I supposed.
I attempted to move it, my muscles clenched,
shards of pain cut through my whole body, like glass.
I gritted my teeth and stopped.
It was pointless.
I was alone.
I looked up the street,
Eveything was on fire.
Billowing smoke curled up into the sky.
Symbolic, I assume, of the spirits headed that way.
Although, not mine.
I was stuck in a place, worse than Hell.
I had to fend for myself, in a country warring against itself.
I peered into the forest.
Perhaps that would shelter me?
Not if the boar got to me.
This was the start, the start of the end, that is.
The end of my "normal" life.
And I face it alone.
I live in a grand house at least that's what people tell me.
over the years and time, it's grandeur shrinks to me. it's not so grand it's not so tall it's not so handsome.
I live in a grand house.
Some say I'm blessed to have a maid dress me and a cook to cook my breakfast.
I don't see it though, it's my expectation how else am I suppose to live.
I live in a grand house.
when people visit they applaud us a happy family in a big house.
people say I take it for granted.
maybe their right years of expectation means that I have no gratitude and little appreciation.
maybe it's because I see that there's little value in things.
maybe it's because I see that high walls don't make for high hopes they just led to higher fences.
maybe it's because I desire to be equal with the world, I daresay normal.
maybe it's because I see what goes on when the butler closes the door. I see the fights, I feel the hits, I feel the solitude. I hear the quiet of my prison. I taste dust that settles when the fight is over.
I live in a grand house.
I have no friends.
I live in a grand house.
I have no love.
i live in a grand house and most days I feel like I'm terribly terribly alone.
The Heart of Love
I’m a senior soul, living in an old folks home as a resident, looking outdoors and saluting our flag. Old Glory is a beautiful and beholding sight for my tired eyes, as I push my wheelchair around to get a closer look. The American stars and stripes have added vibrant colors to my life. I know I’d be far less sane, were it not for being born in the USA.
In my place of residency, growing old isn’t a tell tale of chatter and gossip among quiet knitters. It’s a lot of mumbo-jumbo mixed into a confusing language that I can’t always decipher. We are fourteen men and women, living in one of eight cottages, waiting for yesterday to come.
Mrs. Paula, my neighbor from across the hall, zigzags through time like a runaway train that can’t find its way to the sation. Everyday, I can count on her to be asking for directions to her childhood home.
“Have you seen my parents?”
“No, Mrs. Paula. I can’t say that I have.”
“Well, if you see them, will you tell them that I’m looking for them?”
Like 89-year old Mrs. P., I, too, don’t always remember that my Mama and Papa were promoted to heaven years ago. I’m very much a scavenger on the hunt for something tangible to hold. It’s as though I’m rummaging through the old attics and looking for the perfect picture of my past. It’s the snapshot I see when I think I’m 7-years old again.
Deborah Lane, a 43-year old Nurse with amber eyes, coddles me with kind talk as I spy on her intentions. She, too, is an eavesdropper though, snooping in on my private feelings and offering tea to drink. Am I excited about my daughter coming to visit this morning? Do I think Carol will take me for another walk around the cottages?
If I give in, Tuesday can be like a tempest and a vagabond gypsy, turning the cards over and dealing the Joker. It’s not that I’m not keen on having visitors or that I take a disliking to Carol. As far as I’m concerned, Carol is more than the 67-year old woman who calls me “mom” when I am confused. I think she’s a friendly sort and I am quite fond of her.
I smile. “Well, hello there Denise,” I say, as she wheels me into my room to brush my hair, “It’s so good to see you today.”
“No mother, I’m not Denise. Denise is your youngest daughter’s name. I’m your oldest girl, Carol.”
I find it hard to believe the dementia I suffer from will ever dismantled the bridge from here to healthy happiness. I simply refuse to isolate and walk alone. If anything, I hold a hand out to my grown “kids,” praying they understand my illness.
Belief is the conviction of my spirit when an ever tiny light flickers in the rain. My aging is like an umbrella that opens and closes in the winds of time. I’m a frail old gal, standing under the bumbershoot, and my loved ones keep me from shivering in mental decay. To look into my hazel eyes, is to see my neediness and longing to be well.
Every day I live leaves a trail of dust in my memory bank that I can’t shake off. I guess you could say I’m not well polished in my thinking. I’m an 86-year old lady, turning into a helpless child, and caught up in a storm that rages within. Quite frankly, I find it hard to believe I’ve lived to senior citizenship.
“Valerie,” I hear my name called, as my daughter rushes in and answers for me. She comforts me, though I’m still uncertain who she is.
“My mom’s in her room with me, Deborah.” She says.
I’m thinking my stranger-friend daughter is a spitten image of my mother. She agrees with me when I tell her so. Though my eyes light up when Nurse Deborah invites us to play bingo, I hesitate. It’s up to me, I’m told.
I decline. I’m not made for matching numbers and winning a prize today.
Actually, I have just now remembered that my husband’s bus is coming. Valetta, my first cousin, and her mother, Penny, are with him today. These lovely angels have traveled nine-hundred miles to pick me up and take me out of the facility.
“Help me pack up,” I snap, as Carol’s blue eyes fill with tears and she hugs me forever. I notice her brown hair is predominantly gray now and that she’s stuttering a bit. There she is, bellowing in a voice of frustration as I cry out for my husband . The gray clouds are building up and I keep insisting my Lenny hasn’t died.
My sweet daughter calms me down and decides to take me for a drive in her Bronco. No sooner have we hit the road, the entire incident is forgotten and I remember again. My husband Leonard passed away in our 60th year of marriage together. I was 79-years old at the time and lived on. I will be 100-years old soon. When I’m a century old, I hope to be coloring with my grandchildren and smiling at them.
I will always find it hard to believe there isn’t a rainbow after the rain. How could I possibly fear the rain when the truest love grows in my family? It is not hard for me to comprehend there are many other woman like Mrs. Paula and myself. We are men and woman with dementia and and we cannot let it win. I, for one, will not let my own mind destroy me.
With my children by my side, I’ll have dementia outsmarted in no time at all. I find it much easier to believe that miracles are possible in this world. Though my mind doesn’t always work right, I am climbing symbolic mountains and finding treasures every single day.
Never Would Have Believed
I never would have believed,
My best friends would see me as their worst enemy.
I never would have believed,
That introducing someone new into the fold would be a mistake.
I never would have believed,
That someone who seemed so nice was really vicious and vindictive.
I never would have believed,
People who seemed so loyal would turn against me.
I never would have believed,
How I would be stabbed in the back.
I never would have believed,
How alone and friendless I feel right now.
I never would have believed,
How befrending her could go so wrong.