You seem ashamed to exist
a shriveled shadow
who keeps to the wall.
What strange destiny -
you, once so self-assured
now afraid to live,
but I
I who watch you tenderly
from a near distance,
keeping a worried eye
on your uncertain steps
as if I were your mother,
how astonishing!
I enjoy secret pleasures
without your knowledge.
I see
your earliest passions unfold,
I live your lost days
dark or filled with light.
I enjoy now all your vices
once unable to bear---
my soul shines forth
with all your virtues.
I make
my ways stoical,
without complaint,
through the chaos of our lives.
Marjon van Bruggen
September 2016
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Author Notes
In a rather early phase of Carlo's illness, when I was still adjusting myself to the changes taking place, it was nevertheless painfully clear that he was not the same anymore. I watched him often, trying to understand him. Only much later I knew that understanding a patient with Alzheimer's Disease is impossible.
Chronologically, this poem ought to have nr. 4 or 4 B.
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