Yolanda’s World 

I sit in my room and gaze.

My days are long

and lonely

briefly interrupted

by an aid

or by my beloved nurse, Hartsue.

My life is not my own.

I have my memories of

my gains

but now I live in

my losses.

My memories pulsate

in my mind,

my heartbeat..

nourishment for my soul

to keep me occupied.

I wait in the morning only

to hear the hum of my heater.

I used to hear the hum of birds

but that was long ago.

I used to see the beauty of my roses

but that was long ago, too.

So I wait for the aid

to clean, dress

and place me in my wheelchair

so that I can wait.

I do a lot of waiting these days.

I’m an artist.

I loved to draw landscapes

and give them as gifts

but I can’t draw now

because the head injury

is stealing my eyesight

and hearing as well.

But I have my memories

and my paintings are the children

that I never had.

I don’t eat much

I have lost my interest in food.

My nourishment and survival

is a box named

Resource in French Vanilla.

I prefer the 360-calorie

box, but sometimes I

get less calories.  I don’t

know the difference in the two...I don’t ask.

I never ask.

If I ask, it might draw

attention to myself and

unnecessary attention is not good.

Honey, do I look alright?

Get my looking glass.

How’s my hair?

Will you button my sweater?

But I want the necklace to show.

So don’t button the top button.

They want us to look nice.

It’s important that we look nice.

I’ve never been the same

since my experience two years ago.

I died.

But the doctors brought me back

I didn’t want to come back.

I felt God and His peace and

I’ll never forget the never-ending door.

But they brought me back to this.

They asked me, and I said yes.

I don’t know what I’ll do

if I go blind.

How will I get my teeth out?

How will I place them in my cup?

Will you come and visit me when I’m blind?

I worry about these things.

I’m scared.

This is my home now

and I’m grateful.

I have wonderful friends that

live with me here

and that visit me from the outside.

Glenna was my neighbor and

she washes my clothes.

Glenna’s mother is my friend,

her name is Wilma.

Wilma lives in a home, too.

I miss her.

Eva, the doctor, visits me, too.

She’s Hungarian, like me,

and we talk in our language.

That was my wish,

to speak my language one more time

before I die

and I got my wish.

Eva’s the daughter I never had.

I have friends here.

We eat together every day.

All meals, if you call it that.

We look after each other

“ Are you feeling okay today?”

“Not so good.”

“I’m tired.”

“Honey, I’m worried.”

“ I’m a poet and don’t know it.”

“Don’t talk to her, she’s mean.”

Sometimes I wheel out to

the front desk and pick

up the Star

I love to read the gossip

but with my failing eyesight,

I can’t read much anymore.

Only with my magnifying glass.

This is my life now.

My home.

I am 104.  I am old.  I am tired.   I’m not so good.

And I want to go home.