You lie awake and then you hear the voice.
It doesn't give you any choice.
It wakes you up to it's screams.
It awakens you from your dreams.

You come to me to see if I'm ok.
You say you've heard me just today.
Saying franticly, desperatly, torn.
"I wish I'd never been born."

I reassure you that it's just a dream.
You say, "but I know it was you that screamed."
Again I say I am ok.
You look at me bewildered and say, ok.

The look on your face can not be replaced.
It is one of sheer debate.
You don't believe that I did not scream.
You do not believe that it was a dream.

How long will you suffer?
How long will it be before you go through things that are tougher?
Life for a dementia patient is but a gamble.
At how life will turn out is but a rabble.

You are home now among those you love.
Your home is a room and a few books to read.
Books have always been a love of yours, but now sight dims.

The light in your eyes fades to black.
Your spirit is fading too.
Mind and body are frail.
What do we do when all else fails?

Turn you over to God, because he still reigns.
I am but a helpless human that has no reins.
I turn her over to you all powerful God.
You know her mind, you know her soul.
In You all is told.

The dying part of life often is sad, and very excruciating. But the living part is oh, so good. I guess I'll take the trade-off. So many, many sweet dreams to offset the nightmares. I didn't like watching Jeanne die. But 95 percent of the time I watched her live. And she still lives today. Inside me. Wonderful. Wonderful Wonderful. And I suspect that you feel much like I feel at this moment. Happy. Happy. Happy. And at peace. As if in a dream. --Jim