I spent the day with my Dad today and he gives less and less and takes more and more. I have the same conversation with him every time we speak, we don't speak about much else. It is a waste of the time we have left, but it is all he has to offer me. I will take it, I will think about it, I will share it with you.....

Where did I leave my memory? I don’t really want to know.
The answer is too scary; the end will come too slow.
I remember my tour of duty in nineteen forty five,
I remember my dad leaving, and when I learned to drive.
The day I met your Mother is etched upon my mind,
But my watch, my hearing aids and batteries I surely cannot find.

I do not want to live here, that is why I call it the cage,
I may have lost my memory, but now I’ve found my rage.
Your Mother does not love me, I’m not sure she ever did.
Now she put me in a home, my presence she has rid.
She has my car and house, and she’s never here enough.
Not that I can remember anyway, although my memory’s tough.

They have told me why I have to live here in this gilded cage,
I can’t remember what they said; my head’s a fog now at this stage.
Their faces look familiar yet their names somehow escape me,
They violate my privacy and lock the door without a key.
I drove my car all my life, spending years behind the wheel,
Now they took my license, my independence they did steal.

I know somewhere in this soft brain of mine that something isn’t right.
I know that I forget some things, but is that reason to lose sight,
Of all the time together and how much I rely on you?
You say I need special help but I can’t accept that is true.
I don’t feel that much different, than when I was nineteen,
I can picture that year like yesterday, although yesterday’s not so keen.

I want to go back to my home, the one I know so well.
Although if I had to find it now, I really could not tell.
I get confused and so upset and it makes me so very angry
To know deep down inside my heart I’m not the man I used to be.
The same questions reside inside my mind; I ask them of my friend
They give me answers that escape me; I have to ask again and again.

The people that surround me, I know are worse off than me,
But their presence here reminds me that it is my future that I see.
I know I don’t have much time left and it fills me with this rage
That my final days of being myself are spent inside this cage.
I don’t remember now to then, from here to there, from which to when,
But my rage keeps me here, unable to cope, to understand, or to bend.

They steal from me, they enter my room, all hours of the night,
I hate how they take my things so I can’t find them, hidden from sight
The food here isn’t fit to be fed to even the hounds,
These women hardly feed us, although I’ve gained 10 pounds.
And just between you and I, when the nurses take me for a stroll,
They strip totally naked in front of me; this place is taking a toll.
I called 911 to report the prostitution ring they’re running,
Even the police dismissed my call, as if I were just funning.
No one takes me seriously; I really have these issues,
I never have my wallet and I can’t get near enough tissues.

My life is sad and so am I, I wish I could just end it all and die.
I don’t understand what is happening, or why, or even if it is all a lie.
My daughter begs me to see things a different way,
To live and laugh and dance and play
But what can she ever say?
To make me remember yesterday?
Does it matter anyway?

Someone needs to walk a mile in my shoes to understand
How it feels to not remember where I lost that man
The one who worked and drank and lived in a house
With 4 lovely kids and one lovely spouse.
The man who never saw the end coming and now
Can’t quite remember how to take that final bow.

Someday I’ll forget even the situation I am in
But now I am aware, my patience is wearing thin.
My nerves are frazzled and what else you should know,
Somehow I feel now that I reap what I sow.
My unhappiness is innate; it is part of my being
Life is a shit pile; there is no other way of seeing.

I refuse to go softly into that goodnight,
So I put up a fuss, and I scoff and I fight,
I can’t turn it around now; I’m too old for that change
So I’ll wallow in my pain and my anger and shame.
Hoping it will change the situation I’m in
But somehow knowing this is a fight I can’t win.

I know it's not the best of consolations. But your dad still knows there's a better life. Because he's lived it. Better than not having lived it. --Jim

Welcome, Colleen,
This is a wonderful, insightful poem! I hope you find writing therapeutic, as I know it can be.
Nina

Colleen,
Thank you so much for your "wonderful" poem. I think the writing is very good, the insight, too.
The Alzheimer's robs him. I hope that you are able to feel no guilt about what your dad is going through. We all know that "Al" is to blame for the lack of logic, but it is easy to quickly go to regret and take on blame for not being able to change things for the LO who is in our care... for all they experience and are missing out on.

Peace and joy.
Namaste.