April 19. At Eighty-eight
At Eighty-eightMy mother’s voice on the phone is like a young woman’s, an Executive Secretary holding a top-bound steno pad filled with meticulous calligraphy, each red-and-blue-lined page tidy as a...
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enjoyed the whole thing. "we WERE there, Bill"... I always think of you as Christine, too. A few years back, dearly wished I knew stenography. But it seems too late to learn... I think of those hours...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
This is such a warm and loving story. Love the stenography like wood shavings. It really is the story of a happy life, getting the story right, crafting a narrative that is satisfying and true enough....
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
She calls herself Ishmael: I only am escaped alone to tell thee. What a positive attitude toward the terror of being the last of one's generation.
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
this so smoothly evolves love the ishmael line and the shavings as letters
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
Thanks. This is the forbidden topic: my mom's dementia. But I'm beginning to write about it. The thing is, dementia doesn't mean you're not smart. She was and is wicked smart, WAY smarter than me.
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
This is an absolutely beautiful tribute. My mother also knew shorthand and as a child I envied that skill - as if she knew a secret language. She often had extra steno pads that she gave me. I wish...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
Judy, does the stuff that she "remembers" that isn't true come through as untrue? It needs to. The cliche about dementia is that it's not what they forget, it's the stuff that never happened that they...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
Was she always an 'embroiderer', Chris? My mother has always been colourful, and has embellished stories ( I don't think she has Alzheimers') I think the poem comes across as you want it to. I cannot...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
wonderful: loops and curls that look like wood shavings, like pen-knife whittlings off an old story that is eluding her, Eek: She wanted me to learn stenography and I never did. --- My mother wanted...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
Thanks, Toni. I'm happy with this. I'll send it out eventually, but I will obviously never be able to share it with my parents. Alison, I use "dementia" because there are so many forms of it. It isn't...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
Yes, the untrue part came out just the way you wanted it.
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After my mother's stroke, I wrote an essay about her condition, her loss of language (severely aphasic), etc. I thought I'd never be able to show it to her. But it was one of my first publications...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
A wonderfully crafted poem... ditto to all above. My mother died in 2005, father 2011. Both were sad to watch in final years, but within the mix there were days when they shined. I'm just starting to...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
Loved yet another of your family tales, Christine. My mother had dementia too. She used to see people sitting on her couch and when she looked in the mirror she often saw her twin brother. She always...
View ArticleRe: April 19. At Eighty-eight
aw ...to not being able to remember that I wasn't around when my great-grandpa was. But I wonder if when she is in that sate, time doesn't actually exist for her- I mean really- the way it does for...
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My great-aunt, who also had dementia, used to take my father's voting rolls (this was in the 60's, when they were all strictly on paper), tear them up, and hide them in her underwear drawer. She lived...
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This is such a complete and well-written piece. I wasn't sure I liked the final "all" but I do. All is so final, it means all is gone, not just the bosses but also the memory of them.
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