You lost your wonder
thinking of the closed side show
within your body,
a silent fun house
of reluctant superheroes
you can’t call on to save you any more.
It’s hard living in that bed. It’s hard to see
the empty feeder outside the window,
the subsequent absence of birds.
Before this, you might have asked
whether someone was slacking and if
someone could get it handled.
Now you don’t even ask where the birds are.
You stay silent listening for wings and capes flying
to your rescue, but nothing’s coming, so you just sit.
January 7th, 2022 at 2:32 pm
Triggers heartbreaking memories of my mother’s fourteen years of dying by inches with Alzheimer’s. And at 84 I’m helpless to refill the feeders surrounded by icy layers of snow. Struggling with depression after a wonderful Christmas with young great-grandchildren and family in Michigan where there were no reminders of my husband. Now back home, having to quarantine alone again. But the sun has come out and the birds have scratched away the snow from the seeds on the ground under the feeders. Next week two zoom classes will start again. Interaction with others and challenges to see things in new ways. I’m not dead yet, so the search for meaning and purpose continues and is sufficient in itself.
January 8th, 2022 at 6:56 am
Both my parents are currently in nursing homes. My dad just entered hospice care last week; my mom SHOULD be coming home this week but with extensive home care. It’s a tough time in this damaged world. I feel for you. Take care.
January 8th, 2022 at 10:18 am
Thanks. But the truth is nothing comes near to perfect. And for every goodie, there’s a baddie, and vice versa. I’m sorry you are going through so much at once. I was able to stay (sleeping on a blow up mattress) with my husband for five months in the nursing home when he was getting therapy and then on Hospice. Because he had anxiety attacks if I left and our grown children tried to give me breaks, but the last couple of months he needed me. Together we found ways to be kind to others there. And when he couldn’t sleep, I’d fix picnics in the middle of the night. And as hard as it was, he had always been there for me and finally I was able to be there for him and most of my memories of that time are of being able to love him more than I ever had in our often challenging sixty year marriage. Hang in there. The small stuff’s important.