Mothers Day
W. Maguire copyright 2017
The last time my mother knew who I am was on Mother’s Day a few years ago.
She had started forgetting and remembering in the wrong order. Forgetting the things around her, remembering the distant past. Like Time was suddenly dyslexic.
They had her in this hospital ward for the elderly that was on a street called Memory Lane. It was some back street off the main drag, hard to find and everyone there seemed lost.
Memory Lane would be funny if it wasn’t so cruel. Sometimes living's the same way.
She didn’t know her husband or daughters or sons anymore.
She was 17 trapped in an 80 year old body.
Once she asked for a mirror and didn’t recognize herself…like a young girl looking at some distant person she would become.
She thought I was her long dead uncle some days…or her brother. Once she thought I was her father.
She pleaded with me to let her see that Irish boy that was just back from the war, the one that got shot in the head, and surviv…
W. Maguire copyright 2017
The last time my mother knew who I am was on Mother’s Day a few years ago.
She had started forgetting and remembering in the wrong order. Forgetting the things around her, remembering the distant past. Like Time was suddenly dyslexic.
They had her in this hospital ward for the elderly that was on a street called Memory Lane. It was some back street off the main drag, hard to find and everyone there seemed lost.
Memory Lane would be funny if it wasn’t so cruel. Sometimes living's the same way.
She didn’t know her husband or daughters or sons anymore.
She was 17 trapped in an 80 year old body.
Once she asked for a mirror and didn’t recognize herself…like a young girl looking at some distant person she would become.
She thought I was her long dead uncle some days…or her brother. Once she thought I was her father.
She pleaded with me to let her see that Irish boy that was just back from the war, the one that got shot in the head, and surviv…