121. Moonlight Fills Our Hands

If you want 

To understand 



Really listen

To The Man of La Mancha.

You are your husband’s Dulcinea—

“That he alone can name …

To each a secret hiding place

Where he can find the haunting face

To light his secret flame.

For with his Dulcinea

Beside him so to stand,

A man can do quite anything,

Outfly the bird upon the wing,

Hold moonlight in his hand.

Yet if you build your life on dreams

It’s prudent to recall,

A man with moonlight in his hand

Has nothing there at all.

There is no Dulcinea,

She’s made of flame and air,

And yet how lovely life would seem

If ev’ry man could weave a dream

To keep him from despair. 

To each his Dulcinea … 

Though she’s naught but flame and air.”

You have always been

 Your husband’s Dulcinea—

His catalyst to dream;

A reason to live.

You inspire 

The best 

Within us—

Just as you are. 

Don Quixote, 1979; Noodles Nolker

The Poetry of Dementia is an ongoing project to share my family’s journey with my mother’s illness as a year of moments. We do not know whether my mother will live a full year—or perhaps she’ll live longer. Her dementia has been a bittersweet and beautiful journey that has already taken us places we never imagined. Loving and caring for her at home has fundamentally changed each of us, and daily reminds us to live in the present with love, trust and patience. Click here to read from the beginning.