I walk slowly
Not because I have forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other
That day will come, and I do not welcome its arrival
I walk slowly
Not because I am afraid to fall
A few brittle bones have broken but I still rely on them for my survival
I walk slowly
Not because my eyes have failed me
But I do appreciate you finding those seeing things for my face since I have misplaced them for ages
I walk slowly
Because I cherish my feet moving atop this mighty foundation
If I walk slowly I’m experiencing the luxury of knowing the earth will not pass away with my advancing stages
My admiration of my newly painted toes also gives me some delight
I may not be able to properly name its color, but I still know it’s a bright shade of sunlight
So, I walk slowly
I talk slowly
Not because I’m dumb
I’m constantly searching my hippocampus hoping that word will come
I talk slowly
Not because I can’t articulate
I have a Ph.D. for god’s sake!
My entire life has been based on my ability to communicate
I talk slowly
Not because I’m bored with your constant utterances
But your dismissal of me as if I don’t exist in polite company has become part of my sufferance
I talk slowly
Because I’m giving you an opportunity
Not to finish my sentence or give me that word
But to understand and feel me with your own ingenuity
Will you take it?
So, I talk slowly
I eat slowly
Not because food is a choking hazard
But when that day comes, feed me ice cream
Pay the chance of aspiration and calories no matter
I eat slowly
Not because I dislike the flavor of your cuisine
My taste buds are asking me to pause in case this spice brings back a memory that was deliciously obscene
Do not despair and accept the compliment, if I act it out on the kitchen table
Any reservations I may have had in my youth have now been completely disabled
I eat slowly,
Not because I am stubborn
Please don’t call me names or spew guilt and shame
It only worked when I identified as Southern
I eat slowly,
Because I want to savor each intricate morsel
While I still have some wits about me,
I know that this will be the last thing that still makes me mortal.
So, I eat slowly
But one day
I will stop eating
or talking
or walking slowly
I will stop
Will you let me?
This poem was inspired by my many patients, friends, and family who are living with or caregiving for someone with dementia. If they could communicate in the way we are used to sharing, what would they say? If you could understand their “special language”, what would you hear? Each line represents a specific, beautiful soul that I have either cared for as a physician, or have loved as family or a friend. There is always someone “in there” to get to know, even as the disease progresses. It can be difficult, heartbreaking, and incredibly life affirming. This is my interpretation of what I have “heard” when I simply observe with my senses.
Image: DepositPhotos.com
