(One year before Alzheimer’s diagnosis)
Pictures. Flashes of light
Tiny moments of meaning unconnected
but still joined in the impulses of
the slippery brain I have treasured
Spelling errors multiply as they swirl around in the drain where my brain used to survive and thrive.
Is that what I meant to say?
What were we talking about?
Can you see the confusion and barely suppressed terror in my eyes?
Words are my treasures; translations of experiences rolled in meaning and emotion.
I run after my words, begging for them to glance backward, to wait for me...
How can I lose my words without losing myself?
Am I the words? Are the words me?
How can I separate the soul from the body and still remain whole?
Don't run away from me, my beloveds.
Stay with me.
Dance with me.
Laugh with me.
Cry with me.
Lie down beside me and offer the greatest gift.
(Rebecca Carley was a teacher, artist, musician, among many things, prior to her early Azlheimer's Disease diagnosis in July 2014, just a year after this poem was written. She lived in central California with her husband and son. Rebecca passed in June 2020. This poem was submitted by author's husband Michael Carley.)
The Beautiful Space-