the good fight
* death is a process of many stages, and dementia can be one of the ugliest … Dad taught me many lessons in life, and he fought to the last to retain what sensibilities he could. I miss you, RT. *
~
oh Dad, how I wished you realized how much
I longed throughout life to garner your touch
a spare arm to steady me some, here-or-there
or perhaps a rough tousle to mess up my hair
a shoulder-ride wouldn't’ve been such a stretch
an hour for fishing, or a quick game of catch
maybe taken by hand for a walk on the beach
a soft pat on the back, with a lesson to teach
a high-five to follow some baskets with you
or even a, (gawd forbid), warm hug-or-two
perchance, a kind touch to blot a stray tear
how I longed for just SOMEthing, year-after-year
and, now that you've lost your volition to live
my resentment is waning for what you can't give
thus I’ve made that decision to push it away
and I go to your bedside again, to just pray ...
your dementia can't realize it's me who’s nearby
so I settle my head on your chest ... and I cry
my tears wet your t-shirt but you’ll never know
while I weep and I whisper, "I can't let you go"
I know there's a reason, but it’s one I can’t find
why we have to lose you, as you lose your mind
thus devoted to family and God each good day
now you fight as your dignity slow-strips away
as you don't seem to notice that I'm even there
I tell you “I love you” while I rise from my chair
I straighten your pillow and you give me a sigh
(I've annoyed you again), my eyes are now dry
I drop your hand gently when my visit is done
to my shock you hold on, say "I love you my son"
I turn back around, kiss your forehead goodnight
"please, watch over him, Lord, he has fought …
the good fight."
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, May 7, 2024 (rewrite)
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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