T.S. Eliot is one of my favorite modernist writers. When I first read his masterpiece The Waste Land in college I stared at the page in awe of the images he collected. His work was a collage of words, images, thoughts, ideas, music, hopes, and dreams. It seemed to fit nicely with my theme, Alzheimer's disease. In my experience with the illness at first it appears a blended and contorted collection of thoughts, but through knowledge of the person the story begins to become clear.  

Part I

    She is scared

    She doesn’t know why

    So am I

    What lies in the shadows?

    I remember when she wasn’t so lost

    I wasn’t lost then

    I hold her hand in the dark

    But she can’t remember..


    “Did you get your money? I was always worried that you wouldn’t?”

     “Sometimes you just have to let them stew in their own juices,

     If that doesn’t take, then let them go.” 

     I wonder if she will remember me?

     She forgets the names, faces, and places

     We are a collaboration of colors in her masterpiece

      I hope I am in green

      She is a shell of her former self

     And I grab on to her coat tails and go for the ride

    “How much is that doggy in the window? The one with the wagging tail?”


     “Maybe you should write a story about it, and then read it to me?

       I said “I don’t want to, it will take forever.” 

       “We all don’t have forever.”

       “I love the holidays it’s the only time that I feel my family is together, whatever family I have left     that is.” 

        I watched her in the doorway

        Eyes lit with unshed tears

        The tree was up and lit like always

        The ornaments her children had made

        And her children’s children


To be continued..


Published by Kaitlin Buckley