An Open Letter to Dementia

Notice: This post contains foul language.

 

DEMENTIA, YOU BASTARD, LET MY MOTHER GO!

Ravaged like a swarm of locusts through grain, there is but an empty rattling husk remaining. The brilliant vibrant woman is mauled, diminished. I would crush your center, eradicate you if I could, but you lurk there in her brain sneering evilly at me through her dead shot eyes, smiling through the stupid lopsided grin, saliva, a shiny smear on stained teeth.

I still hear her there behind the embarrassed giggle when she wonders about springtime calving and I remind her it is August. Her stories now wild fabrications, she yammers on in an endless loop as she snaps green beans with weak, blue-veined chicken skin hands.

Linear time disappears behind a repeated question and I am schooled on living in the moment with humor, as she does. I join her in as many moments as I can and must be content that she still recognizes me and where she is even if she does not know the day or the week or sometimes the hour.

I know you are probably waiting for me, Dementia, and my sisters, but it is not in my nature to allow such encroachment without battle. I will fight you with everything I am because that is all that I have. I will learn as many languages as I can, play and write music, paint with harsh glaring obnoxious colors on eight foot high canvases if that will keep you at bay. Dementia, I hate you, but not with impotent rage. I am coming for you, you fucker, I will fight you!

 

 

 

Published by

Crazy Aunt Tracy

Re-inventing yourself can be tricky. After Dad passed, ranching wasn't any fun without him, so my 87-year-old Mom, three cats, two horses, and the dog came with me to twenty acres in the middle of Charlie Russell country. (C.M. Russell's horse probably pooped in my barn.) Now that Mom has joined Dad in the universe, I am full-on into the next chapter. Stand by for Montana entertainment of note and garden and landscape challenges!

One thought on “An Open Letter to Dementia”

  1. Yikes! It’s good, awful but good. And feels terrible and wonderful to read. For public consumption, I would remove the final “fucker” and stick with bastard. Thanks for sharing.

    Sent from my iPhone

    Like

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