Living with someone who has dementia can offer all sorts of challenges. The biggest challenge of all is to accept their world. And sometimes it’s a world that persists longer than you imagine!
Butter mintoes pop into my life,
This isn’t magic, it’s because my darling wife
Loved a butter mintoe more than she loved me.
And sitting in the car to go out she
Would find that lurking creamy minty sweet,
Unwrap it and then proceed to eat.
And as Dementia started to progress,
She would hide them in the pocket of her dress,
Or in perhaps the dressing table drawer,
Or in the magazine rack on the floor.
I once found one she’d wrapped up in a sock,
Another, sticky, dropped behind the clock.
And if asked why she squirrelled them away?
She’d look surprised it “wasn’t me” she’d say.
I’d smile and then we’d sit and puzzle why
These pesky little mints would multiply.
Perhaps we said they scuttled round at night,
When the minty little toads were out of sight.
And so it was with oh so many things,
That objects without legs would find their wings.
They’d arrange themselves around our happy home,
With no pretence of logic they would roam.
The enfridged pants, the false teeth in the tea,
The butter on the mat with jam … sticky!
And now she’s gone and nothing strays away.
I must divest, an organising sort of day.
I miss her loads but I wear my bravest face.
I’m being ruthless, making book shelf space.
Hmm oddly skewy spines! I take a look,
A butter mintoe has been hidden in a book