The Dementia Queen Exploring the evidence, the anecdotes, & the hunches- a rehabilitation perspective
I love this…
A weak old man lay on his bed.There was little time before he was dead.
A crowd of people surrounded him.
Their faces all looked sad and grim.
They all spoke to him, they held his hand,
But they all spoke a language he could not understand.
He could not express what he was thinking about.
His mind was a cage full of butterflies,
Wanting to get out. When he tried to speak the wrong words came. He tried over and over again, But the crowd around him just sat and stared.
He began to think that they did not care.
He gave it up; he wanted to cry.
His mind was a cage full of butterflies,
Wanting to fly. His body ached; he was in pain,
Like he had been hit by a small freight train.
When it would be over he did not know.
His mind was a cage full of butterflies,
Wanting to go. He could not take it; he wanted to die,
So that up to God he could fly.
Then suddenly he started to go.
He felt cold all the way from his head to his toes.
He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back.
He cried out loud, then all went black.
He opened his eyes; he could see a light.
He felt so relaxed and he felt no fright.
He had gone to heaven and the Lord he did see.
Back home, the butterflies danced
And were free.
The poem: A cage full of butterflies, composed by Rogan Kerr, 14, after
Granddad died (ARDA, 2003: 7)
Wow. Written by a 14 year old – dang. While reading it, I couldn’t help picture a lady I know. I never know what to say or do. I’m embarrassed to say that I tend to walk away because I feel so much suffering coming from her. I hold her hand and talk to her but only for a moment. I see those butterflies wanting to be set free and I just don’t know what to do.