Mum’s Alzheimer’s Disease Progresses …

Mum with Noodle

Where’s my money? It’s in the bank. Which bank?
So I am greeted by the dawn chorus.
Its twitters subside but this angelus
Frames our days. The ship of memory sank
With all hands in the storm, just the odd plank,
Maelstrom flotsam, remains, hard for us
To relate to that once proud vessel, plus
The compulsive fiddling, to be frank
Frays nerves. We’d hoped that Mum could be herself
In the moment but cut off from the past,
Unable to envision the future,
The present becomes in and of itself
Frightening. Her distress stands in contrast
To the tranquility that becomes her.