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Posts Tagged ‘Alzheimer's’

Poetry Friday: Silk Scarves

Posted in Gratitude, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , , , , , on July 25, 2025| 15 Comments »

Poetry Friday is hosted today by Marcie Flinchum Atkins at her blog.

My mother died a few weeks ago. It was expected. She suffered for years with Alzheimer’s. My grief for her loss has happened over time. I feel relief now that she is no longer suffering. Nevertheless, we had to clean out her room at the memory care home where she’s been for two years. Many of her clothes were soiled and worn. Most of them were trashed. Some we gave away. I was grateful for my husband who was with me. He hauled the trash bags to the dumpster.

When I came upon a hanger of silk scarves, I couldn’t bear to give them away. I don’t even know why they were still there. So while Jeff was taking out the trash, I tucked them away in a box to bring home. I wore one to a funeral last weekend and felt comforted.

My mother’s silk scarves

Silk Scarves

I saved her silk scarves,
each one a bright
replica of art.
I couldn’t bear to place
such brightness
into a black trash bag.

We worked quickly
making choices to give away
or throw away. Why?
I asked myself
did these scarves call to me?

I remember when appearances
were important to my mother.
She never left the house without
coordinating clothes, make-up, jewelry.
The end erased who she had been.

Lord knows I don’t need
any more scarves. 
Tiffany stained glass (butterflies) 
will soften my neck
above the black dress.

Margaret Simon, draft

This poem was written in response to an Ethical ELA Open Write prompt found here.

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Slice of Life: March is Around the Bend

Posted in Gratitude, Photography, Slice of Life, Spiritual Growth, Writing, tagged , , on February 18, 2025| 18 Comments »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Every year at about this same time I look ahead to March and realize it’s coming. During the month of March for at least 10 years, I’ve written a daily post alongside many others for the Two Writing Teachers daily Slice of Life Challenge. I approach March with a sense of dread and excitement. Writing a daily post, looking at a blank page and filling it with something worthwhile, is daunting; however, after so many years of experience, I know that writing in a community of other writers drives me.

This month I’ve been writing with a Facebook community for Laura Shovan’s 13th annual February Challenge. I feel it’s an impossible task until I get it done and look at my collection of poems. Most of them are drifty drafts, but it pleases me to have written them.

The most common denominator I have seen among writers who commit to daily writing is the fear of writing for an audience, and the best feeling is having written for an audience. My students experience the same fear. They don’t know it yet, but I’ve signed them up for the classroom Slice of Life Challenge. Writing out loud for an audience makes us vulnerable, yes, but it also makes us strong and brave.

If you are planning to do the SOL Challenge, let me know in the comments. We can support each other.

Here’s a small brave poem I put on my Instagram yesterday. I was visiting Mississippi where my brother and my mother live. We met yesterday with a very sweet Hospice nurse, and for the first time, I left my mother feeling hopeful. There is a gift in small moments of hope. I’ll take it.

Morning walk encounter with hope
rising from the lake
like our heroic Hospice nurse
who speaks in loving lift,
healing hearts.

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Spiritual Thursday: Change and Transformation

Posted in Spiritual Growth, Writing, tagged , , , , , , on October 3, 2024| 8 Comments »

Leigh Anne has the October Spiritual Thursday gathering at A Day in the Life.
Female monarch butterfly

While walking in my neighborhood, I saw this large monarch sitting on the ground, barely moving. I crouched down expecting it to fly away, but she stayed very still. I gently placed my finger under her legs and she stayed there on my hand. I marveled at this moment while also worrying about why she was so lethargic. Had she just landed after a long trip from the north? Was she hungry?

I lifted her tired body to a nearby rose bush. I left her there with a blessing.

I often turn to the life cycles of nature to gather a spiritual understanding of change and transformation. Change is hard. I’ve watched my mother change from a vibrant, active woman to an inactive, confused invalid. I know there are parts of her still there, but they are harder and harder to see as she transforms. I question the cruelty of it all, but perhaps it’s only cruel in my limited vision, but not so cruel to her. How can I know?

When a caterpillar begins its pupa stage, there is a struggle. It wiggles and writhes, dropping its head and consuming its body sometimes right before our eyes.

Then it’s the waiting time, absorbing its old self and becoming something new and magical.

I wish I could stop time. I wish I could sit with my mother again and talk about everything. Change and transformation include this in between time, the time of waiting, the time to be present and grateful for what was and will be again.

Faith Broussard Cade posts inspiring notes on Instagram daily. I love them. You can follow her @fleurdelisspeaks. Her new book is Shine Bright Anyway.

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Slice of Life: Mothers

Posted in Slice of Life, Writing, tagged , , , , on May 14, 2024| 2 Comments »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Mother’s Day is a hard day for many women. My Mother’s Day was hard this year. That hard was unexpected. I have three daughters who are each mothers now. Isn’t that something to celebrate? Yes, of course. Not to mention my beautiful grandchildren! My husband and I made a small effort to celebrate his mother with lunch and gifts of plants. I am in the middle, not really a mother anymore. Not mothered anymore. The above quote talks about this shift. It’s big and hard.

Elizabeth Gilbert sent a prompt for her followers to write from: “Dear Love: What would you have me know about mothers today?” Here is a portion of my letter from Love.

You want to keep your arms wide for them, but you can close them around yourself. You have to become lovable only to yourself now. There is freedom and grace in this stage. You did your best. You left your loveseed and fertilized it to grow in them as mothers. Turn your loving toward home, dear one. Open arms are there for you.

My own mother, as many of you know, is living with Alzheimer’s. I have opened a fundraiser page for The Longest Day, an event for the Alzheimer’s Association. I think all of us have been touched by Alzheimer’s. You can donate at my personal page here. For a $50 donation, my ADK sisters and I have made purple beaded bracelets.

Here is a photo my brother sent of my mother from Mother’s Day at her memory care home.

My mother, Dot Gibson. She’s still smiling!

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NPM 24: Great Grandmother Visit

Posted in being mamére, Gratitude, Photography, Poetry, Writing, tagged , , , on April 7, 2024| 6 Comments »

My mother with my grandson, Thomas

Visits with my mother are hard on me. I don’t live near enough to get used to her Alzheimer’s silence, the confused look in her eyes. I keep thinking one of these days I will accept this. But it seems so unfair. She was such a vibrant and thoughtful person. She is safe and happy and generally in good health, so I convince myself I should feel gratitude. Despair and grief take over. I can’t even look at this photo without tears welling up.

At Ethical ELA, we were prompted by Katrina to write about a photograph. I chose the one above.

We see
a child
delighted to hug
his great grandmother
generations of love
passed on with a kiss
on top of his head.

We don’t see
the grief seeping
into the moment
the loss of a mother
whose memories fleet
past through empty eyes
always questioning.

Margaret Simon, draft
The Progressive Poem is with Marcie Atkins today.

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Poetry Friday: Not so Secret

Posted in Poetry, Poetry Friday, Writing, tagged , , on February 2, 2024| 27 Comments »

Mary Lee has the Round-up at A(nother) Year of Reading.

Here we are on the first Friday of the month and Inklings are spilling secrets. Catherine Flynn prompted us “Write a poem about secrets——family, community/societal, governmental, personal, etc.  This could be a narrative (how the secret(s) started, where it or they led, the along-the-way and final (if any) consequences.  For inspiration or starting blocks for your poem, here’s this poem, “Family Secret” by Nancy Kuhl:  https://poets.org/poem/family-secret“

I found a way to write about my mother. It really isn’t a secret that she is living with Alzheimer’s. I’ve written about her before. But I hesitated to write about her. Is it disrespectful to the mother she used to be? I have discovered by revealing this secret, people are more open about their own struggles with the disease. I hope by telling my story with specificity, this poem/secret reaches out to the universal. 

Dressing my Mother at the Memory Care Home

In my dreams, she’s at the kitchen table,
sipping black coffee. She’s reading, ready
for the day to come. 

My sister and I remove her oversized jacket–
daughters on either side coaxing
her arms free from brown suede.
“Is this Dad’s old coat?” my sister asks, pulling

on the heavy cloth. We are caught 
in a maze of arms and fabric, 
confusion, undoing
a mistake of memory we can no longer hide from.
Mom stays silent. 

How does thinking work when words are gone?

Her eyes laugh at this silly game 
we’ve urged her to play.
She giggles
looks to the dolls on the bed–
“How are you doing today?” 

Margaret Simon

Visit other Inklings’ sites to hear their secrets, or not.

Catherine @Reading to the Core
Heidi @my juicy little universe
Linda @A Word Edgewise
Molly @Nix the Comfort Zone
Mary Lee @A(nother) Year of Reading

Illustration from How to Say Goodbye by Wendy MacNaughton

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Slice of Life: A Visit with my Mother

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged , , on December 12, 2023| 11 Comments »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Maybe there comes a point in the Alzheimer’s journey as in any journey of life, a time when we have accepted the new normal. I thought I had accepted it, come to an unemotional understanding of who my mother is now. We made the 4+ hour trip on Saturday. My brother, a saint in my book, brought Mom to lunch with all of us, my husband and me, my daughter and her 3 year-old daughter, and my sister. The table was alive with conversation, all except Mom who sat patiently as Hunter ordered for her, cut her food, and asked her if she liked it. She was content. But she never spoke.

There was a time not too long ago when she would try to be a part of the conversation. Her words would come in and leave off. Like the thought that created them had shorted out, the energy waned. This time, only a month or so later, she doesn’t even try anymore. Her silence was loud to me.

On Sunday morning, my husband helped me get her to church. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. I sat holding Mom for the service. She fell asleep a few times, but when the organ played, she jerked awake and listened, sometimes singing along. She can still read the hymns and her voice is as beautiful as ever. I told her so in her ear, and she turned and smiled, “Thank you.”

Another time during the service, she turned to me and said, “I miss…” I’m not sure who she was missing, my father, my brother, or one of her favorite priests. For a moment, she was present and missing someone.

We brought her back to her memory care home. She was whisked away by the kind receptionist. I turned away in tears. Every time I visit, it gets harder to leave.

Here is a photo of her holding up a tacky Christmas sweater that my daughter gave to her. She follows directions well, “Hold it up and smile.”

I am grateful for so many things: My brother who deals with all of my mother’s needs, my mother’s contentedness, her amazing care, and the sparkle in her blue eyes. Grief is with me always. I will learn to hold its hand and feel its softness. Someone once said that deep grief comes from deep love.

My mother, Dot Gibson, with her tacky Christmas sweater. “It’s pretty.”

It is time to sign up for hosting Spiritual Journey in 2024. We post on the first Thursday of the month. If you would like to host our round-up one month, please fill in this Google Sheet. Email me if you would like more information before signing up. (margaretsmn at gmail.com)

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Slice of Life: Music Memory

Posted in Slice of Life, Writing, tagged , , on October 3, 2023| 10 Comments »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.
Photo by Bryan Geraldo on Pexels.com

Music is my mother’s memory. She was a pianist. When I was a teenager, she went back to school to get her masters in piano. She was always teaching and playing piano and singing in the choir at church on Sundays.

Last weekend my sister, my niece, and I drove up to Mississippi to visit her. She recognized us as people she loved dearly. Her conversations were choppy, a thought would begin but derail before she could finish the sentence. But music is still her love language.

Watching the LSU game together in the hotel lobby, we started “bom, bom, ba-bom, ba” the tune for the fight song and she joyfully joined in. At church she popped up from sitting to sing the service music in perfect tune. My sister played a song she knew Mom loved on the radio, so we could all sing along.

NPR did a report recently about a son who plays the guitar and sings for his mother with Alzheimer’s. (A four-minute listen at this link.) My brother is a musician. He plays keyboards with a band, with another artist, or alone. He makes sure Mom gets to as many gigs as she can, especially the ones he does in senior living facilities.

I was a little wary of my visit this time because my brother had reported that she is worse (She had a bout of Covid a month ago.), but her light is still there. It comes on when she hears familiar music. It shines when she sees my face. My sister and I are baffled by how one minute our mother seems far away, out of touch with the world. And the next she will say something completely logical and true. We are blessed that our mother is getting good care, and she is mostly happy. I admit to tearing up, though, when she was singing. It was then that I saw the person I long for, the one I miss.

I follow storytellersgallery on Instagram. He posts a photo and poem daily. This one spoke to me.

Already Gone.

i wish i could understand
how you feel
i wish i could feel
what you’re missing here

i always feel like we’re doing okay
that no matter what
i know it could be worse

but i’m getting the idea
that maybe you don’t agree
i think you know i would give you
anything and everything
but i’m learning that maybe
that’s not enough
and maybe that’s why
it feels like you’re already gone

Brian Fuller
bfullerfoto.com
Kosse, TX
May 2020

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Slice of Life: So Many Stories Touch Me

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged , , , on June 27, 2023| 12 Comments »

I’m joining a wonderful community of teacher-writers at The Two Writing Teachers Blog.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”
― Maya Angelou

A week ago, I “came out” on social media about my mother’s Alzheimer’s disease. I started a fundraiser for the Alzheimer’s Association. I’ve been overwhelmed by the response. With more than 40 donations, I have surpassed the goal of $1600 symbolizing the 16 hours of daylight on June 21st. Feeling helpless to do anything to stop the progression for my mother, the stories coming from others have touched me deeply and helped me to feel part of a loving community.

In Facebook messenger, when I finally figured out that J was a high school friend whom I haven’t seen in 44 years, I sent her a thank you message. She responded.

Hi Margaret, I was happy to make a contribution. Lewy Body Dementia stole my husband from me (18 months ago). Praying for a cure for any form of dementia. Blessings to you as you navigate this world with your mom.

J from Facebook Messenger

It took me a while to figure out the website, but donors are able to leave me a message. This one came from Linda Baie, a blogger whom I’ve never met face to face but have known online for years.

My husband died from Parkinson’s Disease but he, and I, also had the long journey of the secondary part, Parkinson’s with Lewy Body Dementia, so like Alzheimer’s. I’ve often thought of it as a long goodbye. Best wishes to you, Margaret, and to the family in your sad journey.

Linda Baie

The donations have come from far and wide, close family members to writing friends and even from a former student. When you reach out, come out with the truth, you never know that there are many people in the ocean with life vests to offer, stories of their own struggles connected to yours.

If you have an experience with Alzheimer’s or something similar, please leave a comment telling me your own story. You can also reach out by email or messenger. Our stories are important and connect us.

My Fundraising page can be found here: http://act.alz.org/goto/honordotgibson

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Slice of Life: Say I Love You

Posted in Gratitude, Slice of Life, Writing, tagged , , , on June 21, 2022| 1 Comment »

Thank you to Two Writing Teachers for creating an amazing community of writers and a safe, welcoming space to write and share.

Two months ago today, I took my mother to see my father in the hospital for the last time. He was not responsive. She held his head and kissed it over and over saying, “I love you.” He died the next morning.

I never heard my parents say “I love you” to each other. My father told me he believed that if you said it often, it would lose its meaning. Ten years ago, after he had colon surgery, I vowed to tell them both I love you every time I talked to them on the phone. Mom would respond, “hmm hmm.” Dad would say something like, “me, too.” Over Covid isolation, they finally said an audible “I love you.”

But this doesn’t mean they didn’t love us or each other.

Yesterday in the dining hall of the retirement home, a resident said she’d never seen such a loving family. She said we cradled my mother. I said, “I wish I could cradle her every day.”

Alzheimer’s is trying to take my mother away from us. She knows Dad died. She knows we planted a tree in his memory. She visits it every day. However, when we took her across the hall to look at a one bedroom apartment for her to move into, she said, “Is Dad moving, too?” I hugged her and said, “No, he’s gone. But he’s in your heart.”

My brother said, “Taking up less space.” We laughed. That’s something Dad would say. He loved irony.

Then Mom said, “You suppose I could find another man?” More laughter.

Mom at the Columbarium visiting Dad on Father’s Day.

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