Hey, people just to let you guys know, this is a really sad story. It made
both me and my mother cry, its basically about a mother who has alsimers.
(can't spell that meh) I wrote it a few months after my grandmother died.
Most of it is true, though the names are changed.
Any one who wants a copy ask and you shall receive.
Deficits.
They tell me she is my daughter, how could this possibly be? I would
remember that long golden hair or the deep, piercing eyes, wouldn't I? I
get a flash of something from, it almost seems a different time, different
place. Hydale park, my daughter suspended high on a swing, hair flying,
giggles fill the air. So tangible, I can still detect the fragrant scent of
strawberries from my daughters shampoo, the tang of the freshly cut grass.
Then it's gone, what replaces those scents are the odor of bleach and
chemicals. Underlying that, the sickly sweet smell of illness and death. I
forget where I am. Who sits with me, holding my hand as I stare out the
high-rise window of the hospital? Oh yes, she's one of my daughters, is it
Abigale or Susan? They look so similar. She's telling me of a teenager,
Jason. I ask who Jason is, who she is. The eyes, her deep grey eyes, sorrow
and pain flicker in the depths.
Almost as if I am a child, she talks slowly telling me she is my
daughter, and Jason is my grandson. It doesn't make any sense, my daughter
is but a child, too young. I look in the grey eyes, and realize that they
look very much like my daughters. Only my daughters eyes are full of energy
and joy of life. Not the pain and sorrow hidden in the depths of this
womans. I look away, I cannot bear it. Then it comes to me like a dream, so
soft. My Susan, grown up, getting married in the church I was married in.
White and heartbreakingly beautiful. I look back into the lady's eyes. My
daughters eyes. She is still telling me how old Jason is, how he does at
school, he likes computers, how he is a bit young for girls. She smiles,
tells of his rebellious streak. I remember that this is my Susan. I
remember her brother, my oldest son, John. I tell her how he is just as
rebellious. How he has a tendency to get into trouble. How he ws playing
hide and go seek, how he found his youngest brother in the dryer. How he
turned it on. So mischievous.
She has quieted now. She looks down and then away. Her eyes filled with
tears. I ask how her brother John is. A flash of pain and grief behind the
eyes. I get a feeling, as something tugs at my thoat.
I know that John hasn't come to see me in such a long time. I can't seem
to remember the last time I saw him. Why, I don't know. I ask as to why
John hasn't come to see me. The pain is still in her eyes, as she tells me
that John died, two years ago. The tugging turns into a pain that cracks my
heart. I then remember a funeral, all black and white, so damn formal, and
the ceremony. I remember how my heart was broken. My son, my eldest. Gone
from the world. I can still see his face, pale and lifeless. Dressed in a
tux, eyes closed, hads crossed and lying horizontal. Back to the present.
My eyes now burn, long lost tears, I know that John died, he was sick for a
very long time. Cancer, I believe. No parent should have to bury their
child.
It hurts too much. My eyes fill with tears, and my hands reach up to
cover my face. They stop beofre they reach their destination, age spots and
bruising cover the back of my hands, they continue up to where my blouse
covers my bare arms. I stare at my hands so absorbed. So focused on
anything but the pain, wanting to forget. The lady beings to talk, but I
don't hear. She touches my arm, in my line of vision. I look up, my eyes
clouded, trying to remember, the golden hair, the grey eyes. The memory
doesn't come. I resort to the only thing I have left, questions, questions
without answers. "Who are you? I can't place the name to the face. I'm
sorry I forgot. I forget so much, these days."
both me and my mother cry, its basically about a mother who has alsimers.
(can't spell that meh) I wrote it a few months after my grandmother died.
Most of it is true, though the names are changed.
Any one who wants a copy ask and you shall receive.
Deficits.
They tell me she is my daughter, how could this possibly be? I would
remember that long golden hair or the deep, piercing eyes, wouldn't I? I
get a flash of something from, it almost seems a different time, different
place. Hydale park, my daughter suspended high on a swing, hair flying,
giggles fill the air. So tangible, I can still detect the fragrant scent of
strawberries from my daughters shampoo, the tang of the freshly cut grass.
Then it's gone, what replaces those scents are the odor of bleach and
chemicals. Underlying that, the sickly sweet smell of illness and death. I
forget where I am. Who sits with me, holding my hand as I stare out the
high-rise window of the hospital? Oh yes, she's one of my daughters, is it
Abigale or Susan? They look so similar. She's telling me of a teenager,
Jason. I ask who Jason is, who she is. The eyes, her deep grey eyes, sorrow
and pain flicker in the depths.
Almost as if I am a child, she talks slowly telling me she is my
daughter, and Jason is my grandson. It doesn't make any sense, my daughter
is but a child, too young. I look in the grey eyes, and realize that they
look very much like my daughters. Only my daughters eyes are full of energy
and joy of life. Not the pain and sorrow hidden in the depths of this
womans. I look away, I cannot bear it. Then it comes to me like a dream, so
soft. My Susan, grown up, getting married in the church I was married in.
White and heartbreakingly beautiful. I look back into the lady's eyes. My
daughters eyes. She is still telling me how old Jason is, how he does at
school, he likes computers, how he is a bit young for girls. She smiles,
tells of his rebellious streak. I remember that this is my Susan. I
remember her brother, my oldest son, John. I tell her how he is just as
rebellious. How he has a tendency to get into trouble. How he ws playing
hide and go seek, how he found his youngest brother in the dryer. How he
turned it on. So mischievous.
She has quieted now. She looks down and then away. Her eyes filled with
tears. I ask how her brother John is. A flash of pain and grief behind the
eyes. I get a feeling, as something tugs at my thoat.
I know that John hasn't come to see me in such a long time. I can't seem
to remember the last time I saw him. Why, I don't know. I ask as to why
John hasn't come to see me. The pain is still in her eyes, as she tells me
that John died, two years ago. The tugging turns into a pain that cracks my
heart. I then remember a funeral, all black and white, so damn formal, and
the ceremony. I remember how my heart was broken. My son, my eldest. Gone
from the world. I can still see his face, pale and lifeless. Dressed in a
tux, eyes closed, hads crossed and lying horizontal. Back to the present.
My eyes now burn, long lost tears, I know that John died, he was sick for a
very long time. Cancer, I believe. No parent should have to bury their
child.
It hurts too much. My eyes fill with tears, and my hands reach up to
cover my face. They stop beofre they reach their destination, age spots and
bruising cover the back of my hands, they continue up to where my blouse
covers my bare arms. I stare at my hands so absorbed. So focused on
anything but the pain, wanting to forget. The lady beings to talk, but I
don't hear. She touches my arm, in my line of vision. I look up, my eyes
clouded, trying to remember, the golden hair, the grey eyes. The memory
doesn't come. I resort to the only thing I have left, questions, questions
without answers. "Who are you? I can't place the name to the face. I'm
sorry I forgot. I forget so much, these days."