Memory Care

Almost 60 years she has walked
up the stairs with her husband.
Hand in hand, they say a prayer
before snuggling in for the night.
Where is he now?
She cannot understand, why
this strange room, metal bed for
only one, why seclusion, isolation.
Masked people in paper gowns,
colored gloves say her name,
but they do not know her.
The her when she was
in command, family hostess of
huge holiday dinner parties.
When she cooked, sweat, and
sang stories of Swiss heritage.

These are not the eyes she knows.
Her people are outside:
husband, three children, sister,
brother, grandchildren, nieces,
nephews, friends—all wait
separated in respective spaces.
In what seems like one breath,
the hospice nurse speaks…
positive test, cardiac symptoms,
comfort care, end of life….
No, absolutely no one may enter
or come inside, no one bedside.
Some words are recognizable.
Yet, assimilation lags in obscurity,
for the family ritual, as once
practiced, has gone extinct.
Final days are now faced alone.

Rebecca Ramsden, a retired registered nurse, is the guts behind Poets Chair, where she previously posted about her journeys on social media. Pre-COVID she traveled to vast spaces in the wild to find herself while practicing who she wants to become. Publications include Martin Lake Journal and Talking Stick Vol 23 & 25, and she was winner of the Creekside Poetry Contest.  Currently, she is sheltering alone at home in Minnesota, finding gratitude in community, the practice of writing, and solace working in the garden.