When loved ones live on
in memories, we’re glad they’re
never far away.
When loved ones live on
in memories, we’re glad they’re
never far away.
Small moments from our
past may return. Mem’ries give
peace, comfort and joy.
A Facebook friend posted this thought: “You don’t need to “orient” the elderly, even if they have dementia. Spend time with them where they are at … even if it’s 1959. Ask them about what they do remember.” To which I responded:
“When my grandmother was going through that phase, where she couldn’t remember things even a few minutes after they happened, I had this thought: Old people get to that phase so they can pass their knowledge and wisdom and stories from long long ago onto to the next generation. She could remember the name of her four-year-old best friend, but she couldn’t remember what she had for breakfast that morning. So I asked her about her four-year-old neighbor and her childhood and the first time she saw an airplane. I learned how to fillet a fish. I played endless hours of cribbage and listened to stories and got to ask questions and watch her face light up as she remembered things she hadn’t thought of in decades. I spent months going through the years of 1920 to 1990 with her, looking at old photo albums, making video and audio recordings. She talked about those memories and photos as if the events captured had happened yesterday. Because to her, they probably had. It was an amazing experience.
As a result my children have heard and know more “Grandma stories” than my father, her eldest son. I’m grateful I took the time to listen about yesterday, instead of trying to force her into today.”
Decades after I turned
my first garden dirt
with a shovel,
clearing away sterile lawn
for food and scent and joy,
I didn’t know my last time,
the time at the helm
of a rototiller,
would be so emotional.
Someone else,
hopefully another family,
will now grow and prosper
in this garden,
in my once yard,
in this house,
where Smashing Pumpkins
and volunteer tomatoes
and lemon balm
and popcorn popping apricot trees
and temple roses
and forget-me-nots
and kornblumen
and black walnuts
and the Kirkland rhubarb hat fan club
once grew
and flourished
and prospered,
but where there are now
only rotted logs
and cut stumps
and smooth dirt
and the old mossed rock,
and memories.
I would never say/
“sorry” when change opens new/
opportunities.
I bought strawberries/
for Mom today. She had some/
already. Who cares?
AND
Seeing strawberry /
shortcake for dessert makes me/
forget all the rest.
AND
Strawberry shortcake/
brings back summer memories/
and smiles and drooling.