At times
The aging man
Not pretty sight at all
The memories are lost and gone
It’s sad
So sad
The hands that once were caring strong
Now touches softly this:
The baby shoe
I had
Adult
The baby is
My father can’t recall
The name he gave his only son
That’s me
That sit
Across from him
A stranger in his world
In confusion I see his tears
I leave
—
August 2012
Björn Rudbergs writings
Poetry and fiction by a physicist from the dark side
Björn Rudbergs writings 
I cared for my father when Alzheimer’s robbed him of his mind. A slow death, twisting what once was my hero into someone, something that no longer knew me and I barely recognized him. I sit and held his hand when death finally came for him and we both smiled and welcomed his arrival. It is a cruel fate there is no dignity in that disease . A beautiful write. (sorry for the soapbox comment)
I can understand you, despite the story told is not my own yet. My father is dead, but my aging mother are showing symptoms that I fear can be Alzheimer’s or some other dementia. Your comment brought tears to my eyes.
i can feel both tension and a sense of powerlessness in this well designed poem, very nice
Thank you John, The trigger is the collaborative poem which I started to work on, but it branched to this instead.
Always nice work. Very touching. Meine Urgrossmutter, I lost in that way, by inches.
Aging is a sad process, and even if you are not exposed to it for the moment, it’s a fear you have to live with.