WRITERS COLLECTIVE OF CANADA
Sunday, June 09,2024
3 DRAFTS
Hi there everyone, hope you had a great week. I had some more writing from yesterday's workshop yes it's from the WRITERS COLLECTIVE OF CANADA online.
(Inspired by: What do memories mean to you? Write about someone's memory of a loved one.)
They say memories with loved ones are the last to leave a person with dementia or Alzheimer's. No coincidence there I say. We as humans can connect with others inherently. So it's natural for us to keep people we love vivid in our brains.
Mama used to talk about Dad a lot she would talk about how handsome he was dressed when he proposed. Sometimes she would make us laugh with the funny tricks she would play on him like putting shaving cream on his toothbrush before handing it to him. She giggled at how upset he would get but forgave her so quickly and she loved him as life itself.
Later as Alzheimers progressed, she would talk about how she took care of her little brothers also. She served them shepherd pie first, followed by a glass of milk. She would proudly say they always said please and thank you because I taught them how.
In the end, she was kind to everyone and anyone around her. She would look at me and say I have a daughter with the same name as yours when I'd tell her my name after she asked.
The caregivers told us she was one of their best patients. She still sings Crazy by Patsy Cline, Mom and Dad's favorite song.
Peggy Elms, writer
June 09, 2024
(Inspired by: What requires tender hands? What do you need to be more tender with? Write about fragility)
Oh my sweet baby girl, how adorable, innocent, and fragile you are. Eighteen inches, not even six pounds. They couldn't lay you on my breast like they told us they'd do in our prenatal classes. Funny how they never talk about what could go wrong when giving birth.
Something with my hips not being wide enough, something like shrunk hips. What was I supposed to do wash myself in cold water so they wouldn't shrink? Here I go. Being cynical does help when I get scared out of my mind.
What happened next wasn't what I had expected. They put me to sleep to wake up with no baby on me. The pain was intense physically but not as much as my breaking heart.
I know they took her Apgar which she didn't pass with flying colors. The nurse said my baby was blue but the aspirations they practiced on her helped. She was breathing well now. She even said that she had a head full of cute black curls.
I'm very awake now. I want to see her. Where is she? What did they do with my baby? Let me get to her now.
Peggy Elms, writer
June 09,2024
(Inspired by: Connection)
Take his hand, go ahead he won't bite
He looked at the big veiny hand, the crooked fingers
The hand reaches towards him slowly
He couldn't make out his father's face
It had been too long
He looked back at his brother
Inching him on to take the hand
He thought that maybe, just maybe if
He didn't touch the hand
His father would not go
Strange idea for all the time he'd lost being estranged from him
Watching himself go, he remembered
Leave his father after his mom died
He blames him for her death
How could he touch that hand now, the one that held his moms as
She asked to leave this world
The hand was still reaching, shaking a little
How strong could he be to be on his deathbed
And waiting, his hand closer to his son's now
How could I not forgive this man
Who in the end did what was the hardest thing to do
Say goodbye to his best friend, the mother of his two sons
The love of his life
He took the hand finally
His dads pulled it close to his face and there he felt
The warmest shower of tears on his hand
Peggy Elms, writer
June 09 2024
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