191. Reborn

I dreamt

Of you.

We were riding

A firetruck

Toward 

Hel’s Half Acre;

Toward

Your home

On 

Cemetery Cove. 

You and I rode 

On top

With six

Firemen

Wearing nothing

But towels,

And smoking

Cigars.

The truck

Backed up

To the creek;

Tumbled us

In. 

I held you

In my arms;

Lifted

Your face

To the surface. 

I helped you

Climb out.

Together,

We knocked

On the door

At your lake house—

My new house

And entered.

There was a 

Baby;

Light streamed

From it’s head.

You asked me,

“Did you see that

Baby?”

I woke. 

Last night,

Our first 

Facetime  

Conversation

Since I 

Physically 

Arrived

Here

At our lake 

Home

—Since my dream—

You asked

Your husband

And me,

“What happened

To the baby?

—We were going 

To get a baby

For me.”

Your husband repeats:

“A baby?”

Yes,

You reply,

“A baby, baby

—From the aquarium.”

Your husband repeats:

“The aquarium?”

You nod

Yes

And reply—

“Me-owl.” 

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.