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Friday, October 27, 2017
Memory by Linda Imbler
Like a queen sitting on her throne,
commanding armies,
this disease commands me to forget.
He was there, the old man at the door
something about him seemed-
right.
His name escapes me as does my own.
I am someone caught in a war
between what I know and don’t,
a wounded casualty.
I fight to recall those who visit,
but my thoughts flee;
also there's that strange young woman
with golden hair, she calls me mother,
that must mean we're the same age.
If only I could win my memory,
the war could end, peace could come to me.
Creating "Memory"
Having watched the pain of those who experienced the loss of their loved ones through this horrible disease and watching the victims realize their plight and be helpless to stop it, I took time to listen. This poem is what I learned.
Afterthoughts for "Memory"
If you don't have imagination, you stop being human; animals don't have imagination; Alzheimer's is the death of imagination.
I hate Alzheimer's. It is one of the most awful things because, here is a loved one, this is the woman or man that you have loved for 20, 30, 40 years, and suddenly, that person is gone. They're gone. They are gone.
I don't know why Alzheimer's was allowed to steal so much of my father before releasing him into the arms of death. But I know that at his last moment, when he opened his eyes, eyes that had not opened for many, many days, and looked at my mother, he showed us that neither disease nor death can conquer love.
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