All of my childhood heroes are dead,
the famous ones,
the uncelebrated ones,
they're all gone now.
All but one;
my mother.
She is still alive.
She is old.
She is tired.
She is feeble and weak
but she is still funny
and kind
and she struggles to discern
between reality and illusion.
Is it the medication
or is it the disease ?
It matters not.
She drifts between worlds
and lives in both.
Oh, my father is still alive too.
start from the edges
one piece at a time
no longer concerned with the big picture
but focusing on the piece at hand
it helps stops the shaking
and seems to aid in keeping the hallucinations away
at least for a while
but three-hundred pieces
is a lot to take in all at once
and she's been gone from her room
for thirty minutes or more
the puzzle can wait
it will still be there tomorrow
so, she heads down the hallway,
back to her room
where there are hungry children
that need her attention because only she can see them
and only she can hear them crying
