The Daily Calendar

One thing we all know about Alzheimer’s is that every moment of every day of every week of every month of every year is overwhelmingly repetitive.

You hear the same questions. (Where am I? Who are you? Is my mother alive? What do I do now? Who am I married to? I don’t have kids, do I? Where are the babies? Whose dogs are these?)

You watch the same frustrating inappropriate behavior. (My mom wore a bathrobe to her adult day care last week. Oh, she’d be so humiliated if she were really herself.)

You cringe at the same demands. (Take me home. Quit telling me what to do. I want to go home . . .  NOW! even though they are home.

You experience the same feelings of frustration when they wander, pace, trace their finger over imagined objects, look confused, struggle for words, and/or get lost.

A Poem to Express

In addition to this blog, I also have a poetry blog called Writing On the Sun. One of my favorite poetry prompt sites, Poetic Bloomings, served up a challenge today to write a week of haiku highlighting a week of days in a string of seven haiku. Anything is fair game, so I wrote what happens every day of every week of every month for the past four or five years of my parent’s life.

In my poem below, I think  I failed to capture a couple of things:

1. That their days are like the movie Groundhog Day. The same ol’ same ol’.

2. They express their frustration at their failing health by remembering the past and in prayers to leave this world NOW and meet God in heaven. The present is the past and the future. Not the present.

Here’s my offering for “WHAT A WEEK IT WAS!”

The Daily Calendar

by J.lynn Sheridan


Old sergeants wrestle.
Against time and providence.
Playing hide and seek.

He prays for heaven
Weary of daily battles
The sunrise cheats him.

She prays to go home.
Lost inside her tangled mind.
Asking her own name.

Another phone call.
Another question of time.
Searching the shadows.

Remembering 1953

White lace and diamonds.
Home sweet home and hearth to hearth.
Her beauty thrilled him.


A flirt with morning
Lost dreams teasing me.
Insomnia’s gift

Neighbor’s chickens squawk.
Red fox prowler on the hunt.
Thieves hide everywhere.



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