In Her Own World Poem by Sharon MacLeod

I spot her wandering in the hallway.
Her back to me, she shuffles, listing sideways.
My heart breaks every time,
the memory of her and who she is now
too painful to hold.

There's not much left, just a few essentials.
The plucky willful child, the smile, the
radiance in her face when she turns and sees me.
It usually takes a moment,
as if she's peering through a fog
to see who just said 'Hello, Mother.'
She knows this familiar face belongs to her,
but not much more.
The frail cord that connects her to me
has nothing to do with thnking.

She spends her days wandering, looking, humming,
lost in the perpetual song in her head,
fingers moving over forgotten piano keys.
Her life is distilled down to a single point of being,
only now, only now, only now.

I take her hand and we go slowly,
the world shrunk to a circular hallway
with endless doorways.
Any room could be hers.
Her caregivers whisper as we pass, 'She's my favorite',
and I am moved inexplicably to tears.

She launches a string of sounds
that have the cadence of a sentence.
She looks at my face, expecting a reply.
I nod. She's satisfied.
She doesn't know she's not making words
in my world.

When I was young she failed me,
even as she loved me fiercely.
What she gave me through the
hard journey back to myself
was the thread of her devotion.
Later came the understanding
and the tears.

There was a time when I thought
I couldn't live without her.
Now I know I can and must.

After five long years of saying goodbye,
of letting go inch by excruciating inch,
all that is left of us
is that moment, that smile, when I find her,
wandering in the hall,
humming to herself.