The Forgotten Mother
A gray old woman sits all alone,
Unloved, uncherished, and unknown.
Sitting beside her broken door,
Dreaming of days passed long ago,
Aging is a natural process of life. It begins the moment we are born. Strangely enough, most of us live under the illusion that we and our loved ones will never become old. When old age arrives, we are often unprepared. The natural order becomes reversed. The young help to care for the old. Those who need to be taken care of for the first time have a hard time accepting that they need help. This condition is a product of our culture that does everything it can to conceal the loss of youth. Confronting this reality is the beginning of a healthy relationship to life, aging and death.
A gray old woman sits all alone,
Unloved, uncherished, and unknown.
Sitting beside her broken door,
Dreaming of days passed long ago,
I am so sorry for your loss. Both the husband and your children. I am 63. I lost my husband to Pancreatic cancer last year. This year, I have lost my only child, her two children, and her...
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I'M STILL HERE
My looks are nothing special,
My face reveals my age,
This poem really hit home with me. I will be 60 on my next birthday and it seems like years fly by like days. I too look in the mirror and wonder where all the lines and wrinkles have came...
Here I lie in bed again, Awaiting my next meal.
A worker barges in my room, As if it's no big deal.
What ever happened to courtesy? Just a little knock.
Wow! Beautiful Poem. I needed a poem for my English class. This right here is phenomenal. I volunteer at a hospital, so I work and see a lot of these patients. This poem has reminded me to...
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She's trapped inside the prison walls
That used to be her mind.
The woman that she used to be,
Has long been left behind.
Would love to read some of your experiences. I am currently caring for and have two care givers looking after my 80 year old mother.
My eyes are fine; they are just printing words small.
I just use a walking stick to seem stately and tall.
Nothing is wrong with my sense of smell.
Very nicely described and also the way it became funny was absolutely fantastic.
Said the little boy, sometimes I drop my spoon.
Said the little old man, I do that too.
The little boy whispered, I wet my pants.
I do too, laughed the old man.
I admit I didn't know Shel Silverstein until I bought a couple of sheets of stamps with his name on each stamp and a silly little sketch of a cartoonish little girl. "Who is Shel...
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She's sitting in a rocking chair.
She's peeking out the window,
looking at the children playing, remembering her own....
This poem made me cry, which to me, the mark of a good poem is if it evokes a deep feeling. I feel so very sad for this woman, and your words cut to the very core of her feelings of loss,...
Purple veins strain against the skin.
Pale, translucent, paper thin.
Skinny fingers clawed in monstrous shapes,
Brown spots from years that she can't erase.
I absolutely loved this poem. I had tears running down my face as I was reading it and as I read it again to my nieces. My mother's hands bother her a lot and have begun to change shape...
I see the sadness in your eyes,
The times that you are knowing
What's happening to your wondrous mind,
The symptoms you are showing.
For the first time in my life I came face to face with the struggle of Dementia. My mother was quiet about the reality of her daily life caring for the man she married over 60 years ago. She...
Many, many years ago
When I was just a kid,
And I had just began to grow,
There's stuff I had and did.
Ah, blissful childhood memories. Raised in a rural community, most relatives and friends lived on farms. Being a town kid, homemade fried chicken dinners in an oversized farm kitchen, that...