Dreams
On the bookcase, behind her, a photo showcases a twenty-year-old brunette—slim, shapely, with a mane of brunette hair cascading over her shoulders. She leans against the right fender of a 1930’s rag-top. Behind her sits her 1st Lt. Army Air Corps finance, wearing the uniform that would take him to the European theater—her fly-boy, B-24 pilot. There, he would die.
Today, she stares over her glasses, the clouded irises of her eyes registering little but confusion, the once-smooth surface of her skin bearing ravages of the many losses that have dogged her throughout her lifetime. “Are you happy?” she asks for the 17th time in the last couple of hours. I answer, “Yes, Mom, I’m happy. You don’t need to worry about me.”
I return my gaze to that photo, so full of youthful hope and happiness. Yes, Mom, all is well. You can move on when you’re ready, I think. I’ve told her that before.
For her part, she has dosed off again, perhaps returning to those dreams of years long-gone.
clearing out dead leaves
unearth patterns of remains
lace-knit life forms
Photo: Susan Judd, Used with Permission
Thank you to Susan Judd for allowing us to use her wonderful photography to inspire us today in writing to dVerse Monday Haibun prompt: beauty in decay. And thank you to Bjorn, for inviting Susan.
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 
Sad to see a loved one fade as we wonder what dreams and memories remain in such a “lace-knit life”…tears and hugs.
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Such a well-wrought combination of poetry and prose, tender and loving.
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I have tears and a lump in my throat. Too close for comfort but beautifully written.
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this is such a poignant story you paint in only three paragraphs, and the ending haiku ties it up so well. it almost feels like a cycle in how you could hold prose in one hand and poetry in the other and they would weigh equally.
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My heart goes out to you and your mother. I sincerely hope you find some comfort in writing about this difficult journey.
I like how you began and ended the prose with dreams of the past. Your haiku is exquisite.
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Wonderful writing as always, Victoria. I love Sue’s image.
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Your poem reminds me of my mom. We all had to wait till she was ready, I think even death waited a little 🙂
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I do believe a person who is like my mom chooses when she’s ready and death stands by.
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Yup, I can see the grim reaper standing there tapping his bony foot and looking at his watch
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Got my heart all up in my throat with this one, you did. The simple statement of “There he would die.” The ache of an echoing question. Oh, Victoria. So much love for this. And for you, as you brave it.
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Thank you, De.
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So bittersweet in the memories of how they were and how they are now. Blessedly, my mother at 90, is still doing well in her cognitive faculties but has given up driving (thank goodness!) so needs to be driven to appointments and shopping done for her.
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That is so scary–I was lucky mom decided on her own at age 80. It is such a hard decision, giving up your independence.
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Delightful Victoria, having cared for my dad in his final years I often wondered where his mind went at times….
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Your closing haiku is so powerful to close this with…the lace-knit life feels to me, like life beyond this life. Beautiful moving haibun.
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That image was so inspiring, wasn’t it?
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So sad, Victoria, but tragically sweet.
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This is so sad, and beautiful. I can’t imagine the pain of watching a parent slowly fade away.
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It seems many of us are going through this…there are lessons to learn. They truly live in the present moment.
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I know it’s horribly painful, but it’s a pain I would welcome. My mother died when I was nine, and I’d gladly take the pain in exchange for the decades she’s been gone.
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This brought back painful memories for me, Victoria – a powerful write, and the haiku lines are just so poignant.
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Thank you, Sue. I worked almost my entire nursing career in death and dying, dealing with much dementia. It is so different when it affects a loved one. And your photo was so perfect for the experience I had visiting my mom this past weekend. As others have said, your photos allowed our poems to write themselves. BTW, the photo blog I share with my husband is http://whatweseez.wordpress.com
I look forward to following your work.
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Thanks!
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Very beautiful memories. The poem’s last line…the lace…like memories, bits and pieces, fragmented…
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This made me cry – for you, your mother, for my mother. I look at a photo of my mother and father when they were dating, she looking over her shoulder and laughing while my father tugged on her long black braid. She asked me the other day why he had not been to visit her, that she knew he wouldn’t stay away. For the 5th time in a few minutes, I had to tell her papa had died 30 years ago. I know my mother is still in there for sometimes, that impish grin shines forth. Oh, how my heart aches.
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I thought of you while I was writing this…and Bjorn, and so many of us who are dealing with a parent dealing with neuro-cognitive disorders.
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This is beautiful, Victoria. I remember being with my mother when she was so very ill and so very tired. She would look at me and raise her eyebrows as if to say, “are you okay?” And I would say the same as here — the letting go….and the waiting. Your haiku is exquisitely complementary here. And I read it in many ways….the learning about her memories….finding mementoes. I am so touched by your writing here, Victoria. Missing my mom….
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Losing a mother is such a huge loss–even when it happens before they die. I call it dying by the inch. My mother is just not there anymore. Dementia is such a cruel disease.
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Cannot hit the Like button on this. It is, perhaps one of the cruelest diseases waged upon a family.
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This make me so sad.. yet it’s so bittersweet that loss, the image of your mom when she was young, and how she gradually is fading just like that image of the leaf… wonderful writing.
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Thank you, Bjorn. As I mentioned in replying to Toni–I thought of you and her when writing this. We share this pain in common.
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