212. Counting Sheep

Like every morning,

I asked your husband

About your night;

How you both slept. 

“We slept great!”

He cheerfully replied,

Then paused 

For comic effect—

“Until three o’clock.”

He tells me

He wants a smaller bed;

Less distance to cross

To pin you down. 

You wanted Rody,

And your mother.

Pulled the covers.

Cried, “Help! Help!

We need Help!”

Then out of the blue— 

“Baa, baa, black sheep

Have you any wool?

Yes sir, yes sir,

Three bags full.” 

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.