The edge of our reality can end
where our vision sees no longer
the man or woman growing older
becoming invisible as though
swallowed up in the mist
a dense fog masquerading
as a wall forthwith the
door is closed
They are forgotten are they not
beyond the noise and bustle
of the cities they once
inhabited, sustained to
hold strong protecting
those young and growing
until the tie then
is thus broken
Then they are contained inside
four walls of the homes
we have banished them to
as they wait in lonely rooms
long hallways where signs
saying exit are never
meant for them
but only for us
Their tears of despair turning
to fear and anger toward those
who leave them there to
languish with strangers
who do not know them
who only change bed sheets
give medication unknown
then turn to go
They will find no solace here
amidst disinfectant where
even germs are not wanted
they cannot find the warmth
of their own bed, the safety
of familiar things
for the edge of their reality
diminishes in the sea of ours
© May 2016
Renee Espriu
Image Taken & Digitized by Myself
My father went missing some three to four years ago now but we were fortunate. My sister who lives with him did not wait long and sent someone to look for him, even though the police did not consider him missing. The allotted time was not up. Now we have the newest thing, the ‘Silver Alert’, to look for the elderly amongst us who turn up missing every day.
Recently, my uncle and my father’s brother, also went missing. His family did not look but waited until a ‘Silver Alert’ was in place. After four days they found him in a church parking lot in his truck waiting for help. At 94 years of age, he was known to be in good health. But his adult children are too busy with their lives to consider him and knew nothing of their father’s well being nor did they keep in touch often enough to know if he was alright. He is now in the hospital, a shadow of his former self, prior to having gone missing. His children have finally come but we believe, to only say their good-byes.
In our Western society, convalescent homes have become the norm, a place in which to put our growing older population because there is no longer time for them. In certain circumstances this might be an option but in so many cases, families simply do not know what to do with their elders when they become frail, in poor health or have various stages of memory loss.
My uncle could have more time even beyond his 94yrs but his adult children have been raised in a society to not see beyond the option of a place where someone else will care for them. My sister has difficulty understanding it but in reality it is yet, another system in our society, that is flawed and that leaves us still with more questions than answers. I feel compelled to write this for him, Hector Dickens, who now no longer has a voice in his life.
Ironic, one might say, how the words beckon us to convey a message and how life comes full circle in the saying of them. My uncle passed away this morning, perhaps even as I wrote the above words. He will be missed.
reneejustturtleflight.com 