My Poetry Page

his is a collection of thoughts, memories and feelings from the past years since my Mom has been sick. I just kind of put them together, not so much as poetry but as things I just didn't want to forget.

If anyone has any personal writings regarding Alzheimers Disease and someone they love, I would be very happy to add it here, with credit to you of course. Or maybe you just want to share your thoughts about it or make a dedication to someone. E-mail me and let me know.

This is a very special poem written by a lady who was my sister's best friend growing up. She was like a daughter to my dad and always called him "Mr. B". Thank you Judy for sharing this...
The Man Who Broke The Mold

Mr.B fell in love with a
Pretty woman named Fran.
They raised three daughters
And made a living from the land.

He was very good to his girls
And treated me like one of them.
Our summers in the Ozarks
Were special because of him.

He taught us how to swim,
And where to catch the fish.
He even took us to an Elvis movie
Granting an adolescent's wish.

He should have gotten an award
For driving us across the West.
Surely traveling with five females
Must have been a daily test.

Mr.B is many years older now,
And he works out of his home
Restoring beauty to old wood
In the time he spends alone.

He's been a devoted father & husband
Taking care of his beloved Fran,
And as she so often said,
"They broke the mold when they made that man."

Written by Judith Becking Hargett 11/98

~The Birthday Song~
At 18 I left home to start a life of my own, And Lord I was full of myself thinking I was grown! When the day came 'round to celebrate nineteen, I felt a litte lonely, not sure why. Imagine my delight when I answered my phone... No hello did I hear, just that silly little song... "Happy birthday to you"... It became a ritual then for all the birthdays after, Until she no longer remembered... Exactly who I was.

My mother seriously did this every year of my life after that first year of being away from home. I think she continued to do it because she got such a kick out of acting silly and making us laugh at her.

Random thoughts and words, That once spit forth Become like little ghosts. Tiny and frail, her body becomes. Like an infant she lays curled. Involuntary movement... Did she reach for my hand? I can only pray, That the clouds covering her sunshine, Are soft, puffy, white ones.

~Hats and Shoes!~
An old fisherman's hat I see Hanging in her closet... Brings a smile to my lips. Remembering her pulling it onto her head Threatening to drive us to town. As teenagers, we cringed, of course At the very thought! A sunny straw hat laying atop a shelf, In momma's closet. This one she wore in the yard. Working the soil for her flowers to grow. All about the house they rest. As though she'd just layed them down. Her shoes, oh my her shoes! Take up space in every closet. Colors of the rainbow... They reflect on my mind, her passion, Shoes to match every outfit. The girlish way she wore those hats. Those sweet memories... The funny hats and all the shoes, Are strewn about the corners, Of my childhood home. I still can see her at the mirror... Grinning a cocky smile. Posing like a child playing dress-up, While us girls rolled our eyes. If I could have seen the future... I'd have told her... All her hats and shoes, Were as beautiful as she.

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