Tiny Pieces of You
Watching someone wash away, one memory at a time
One more little bit of you left today; Another tiny piece, Hardly noticed — The bit that remembered my name;
So many little things, fading away; Into the waiting dark, Don’t go gently — Don’t go at all…
Out with the tide, I watch you floating farther and farther from shore; Trying to reach you, touch you, hold you; selfishly wanting more;
I know you’re still in there; I saw you peek From deep inside those eyes, Then gone again— Clouded over. Can you see me?
I‘m probably asking too much of you, But God’s not listening, Or not answering — Please, can’t you stay…
Here, from the shore, I watch you drifting farther and farther away; Wishing I could go there with you; but wishing much more you could stay;
One more little bit of you left today; Another tiny piece, Hardly noticed — The bit that remembered my name…
Loosing a loved one to dementia is a bit like losing bits of a jig-saw puzzle — once those bits are gone, the picture will never be whole again. Except the puzzle pieces your loved-one is losing are names, faces, memories — pieces of their past — your past. We take these bits and pieces for granted. Simple every-day things, like finding your way home from a short walk, recognizing a loved one’s voice on the phone, remembering to pay the power bill, or where we left the car.
But to watch a loved one slowly, gradually lose their connection with the present can be devastating. I’ve been told it’s not as hard for them, as they aren’t aware of what’s happening. Yet, I’ve seen the confusion and pain on the face of a loved one struggling with something they know they once knew.
It’s as if some vast ocean of time were washing up on the shores of their memories, inexorably erasing them. You watch the tide roll in and sweep back out with a few more pieces — a little nibble here, a tiny corner there. Soon there will be nothing left, not even their footprints in the sands to show where they once lived and laughed and loved. Only in our memories will we ever find them again.
This story is a response to Prism & Pen’s writing prompt Bodies of Water.
