Who are they?

1 in 6 of us will have dementia when we are 80+. My granddad had it. I only ever knew the person dementia made him become, I have to rely on stories for the rest. This is a first draft of a poem, it's a free poem so doesn't rhyme, and its rubbish. But sometimes that's what your feelings are, a complete mess.


1. Who are they?

You shout
You bellow
You scream
Your rage at the world passing through your cracked lips.
You want to be independent
But you need help with everything.
Who is that person helping you in the shower?
Making you get up when you just want to stay sitting down.
She tells you she’s your daughter
But that can’t be true.
Where have the cows gone?
Where is your wife?
They tell you she’s gone
But you remember nothing
Your eye sight’s failing
You can’t remember anything.
Who are those two children giving you a hug?
They tell you they’re your grandchildren
But they are not.
A group of people sit around you
Telling stories about a young man
He had an excellent memory and sense of humour
They tell you that was you
But surely not.
All you want is your cows
Nothing else makes sense
But they tell you they’ve gone
Like everything else
You lie in a bed
They tell you you’re in hospital
Unfamiliar faces crowd ‘round you
Calling you Granddad and Dad and Ian  
Who are they?
You try to ask but the words won’t form in your mouth
You see your cows and your wife
Calling to you to come home
They are the only things you remember
You go towards them
Leaving your body and its terrible pain
Leaving a world that you can no longer remember

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