Poem: 'Cut through and torn'

Written by Victoria Chin

Written in 2015, when Dad suffered several behavioural episodes, this was one of several downturns that we endured. Swirling down in early grief.

The poem reminds me that December can be a dark month for many people.

While some of us are counting our blessings, others can’t see a light. Sometimes, as these years progress, we feel it all, instantaneously, the good, the bad and everything in between. Tread lightly, dear one.

Empathy, self-compassion, bittersweet joy, and sadness can all co-exist within this nostalgia-filled month, like flags waving and reminding us of our life’s times.

The pierce and crack of words can sometimes break the trance:
the glazed eye, 
abrupt words
another mind-numbing episode erupts.
Adrenalin courses and my body primes
No easy days. I SO miss his light and shine.

Afraid of what is happening, I have to take THAT stance
the one, where, eyed as the child, I have to use my adult skills 
No frills - just breakthrough and lead us to calm, with charm.
But teeth grind, nails indent palms and adrenalin overtakes
firing electricity stinging, and singeing, like hot pins
Now role reversal, is anchoring in.

We are losing our grip on the illusion 
of strong, intelligent, and charismatic Dad,
his life and soul is seeping out, 
Discombobulated and sad, the vascular dementia robs him of more cognition, 
Unable to follow the chat, now he prefers to listen, sit instead of quoting trivia like a king
he's crumbling more often, down to the emotions of a kid.

The only way to comfort is to facilitate other illusions
Play into the stories of childhood memories and holidays by the beach
Offer the sense of control, to give him some release
An illusion of control, decision making and ‘head-of-family’ pride,
retelling of awards and family gatherings; tribe.

The authoritative impact words, that would have been from parent to child
Are now the role reversal boundaries, of pace and stride.
They pierce through the veil and trance, offering the rails to hold, trust and guide 
They keep him comfortable in the familiarity of everyday routine
Reassured, cared for, and seen.

Every moment we walk through, is heartache and pain
This is eldercare real-life, 
no roses or cream, nor skating along in a dream.
The sharp bittersweet pain punctuates our journey, making rollercoaster tracks clear
Indelible, tattooed by those hot pins, It’s always love we feel .
Grieving hearts, cut through and torn, within