My Danish stepdad is (gently) forgetting his English as his dementia progresses and last night he, quite fabulously, referred to fish fingers as 'fish pins'. Lamp posts are now 'light poles' and lifeguards are 'sea rangers'. My mum has been ill and as we waited for her having out-patient tests yesterday, he said: 'She is no ordinary, everyday human being of any kind, she is my wife.' Tautological, but wonderful (and heartbreaking). Later, my mum and I were chatting about how she is never ill - the only times she recalls are malaria when she took us to Pakistan in seventies; having to have a salmon bone removed by general anaesthetic during a trip to Finland in nineties, and, more recently, a slipped disc. My stepdad turned to us and said: What's that about Ed Miliband?
'Salmon bone in Finland' heard as Ed Miliband: the poetry of dementia.
4 comments:
the sadness of dementia, that one would remember politicians you might prefer to forget and forget your own language. Heartbreaking, but there is certainly poetry in there too.
Beautifully said and beautifully written.
Sorry to hear you are going through this. Your stepdad sounds like a fantastic person and he remains a poet despite his illness. Moving post, NMJ.
x
If only your step dad stayed at this stage . . .
It is poetry: the brain finding substitute words, metaphors.
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