The Golden Years???

I wrote this poem when I was working as a secretary at St. Paul's Nursing Home.  We had a lady who had Alzheimer's Disease.  She was so attached to her doll, she would not leave it to go for lunch unless she had assigned "a sitter" to stay with her "baby" until she got back. A visitor told me it was a "depressing sight".  I, (as well as other staff members) thought it was beautiful though  tragically sad!  This poem was my rebuttal to that visitor's "depressing" assessment of the lady's plight.   

Daisy was a Lady - Once

Daisy was a lady

Once

With poise and grace

And elegance and pride.

Her eyes were bright, her speech refined,

There was purpose in her stride.

Folks sought he counsel

For her words were wise

And her ideals were honourable.

All who knew her

Were proud to call her “Friend”.

They listened as she spoke

Their attention undivided,

For Daisy was a lady

Then.

We see her now

Just the shell

Of the Daisy we used to know.

Age has taken its toll,

But it’s that dreaded disease

That has ravaged her soul

And stripped her of that dignity

She worked so hard to maintain;

The respect that was hers alone;

That took a lifetime to build.

That flawless reputation

Carved by perseverance and determination,

Is all but a memory now,

In the minds of those who know

That Daisy was a lady

Once

We barely recognize her face

So sullen, disinterested

Devoid of the bright smile of recognition;

Her eyes staring blankly into space

Avoiding contact with humanity

As if we were some alien race

To whom she has nothing to say.

She is oh, so different now

Her shoulders stoop

Her head hangs low

And her steps falter

As she shuffles aimlessly through the halls

Of the nursing home where she now resides.

Visitors pass her by

With pity in their eyes

For she remembers not

The people she held so dear

When Daisy was a lady.

She had a husband once

A loving family

Whose very existence was intertwined with hers

They laughed together in the good times

Cried together when things were bad;

They worked and played

And prayed together for the same goals.

Their aspirations rose and fell as one.

Now their visits seem so meaningless,

For Daisy does not know they’re there.

She knows not who they are,

Just another voice,

Another face in an endless abyss,

Another form in her wandering path,

A form from the distant past,

When Daisy was a lady.

Her children come

Now with families of their own

Their hearts bleed

And their eyes fill with unshed tears

To see this pathetic figure

Who’s not the mother they once knew,

When Daisy was a lady.

But there is a part

They still recognize.

Daisy carries a doll now

She holds her close

Enfolding her to her bosom

Gazing at the doll with a love so profound

That time itself retracts its sequence

The children watch

And remember…….

When Daisy was a lady