John F. McCullagh
The Long Goodbye - Poem by John F. McCullagh
The thing that killed her has a name
It formed the plaque that scarred her brain.
She embarked upon that one way trip
where names elude and memories slip
This disease is most unkind
It slows the step and clouds the mind
Her daughter daily watched her fade
into a lemure, a ghostly shade.
She was not frail at eighty nine
She’d cold cocked nurses in her time
who came too close with an I.V.
and paid dearly for their ministry.
The heart was strong, but not the mind
Ten years passed, as we count time.
She couldn’t hear or speak our names
How silent then her world became.
She couldn’t eat without an aide,
Or walk without a metal cane.
At the last- the chair with wheels
And we all saw how helpless feels.
Some say death is most unkind
Perhaps, for those before their time-
But for those who linger at his door
There is no gift they wanted more.
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