She is still there,
The woman I have loved
For most of my life,
But she is not the woman I knew,
That woman has been taken,
Taken from me,
Taken from family,
Taken from friends,
By her new friend,
Dementia.
This friend has put her mind
Into a place that cannot be found,
Each day the hiding place is deeper,
Her world is her own,
And cannot be reached by anyone.
Even I cannot reach her
But occasionally she comes out,
Out of her world into mine,
But those occasions are so rare,
So rare
And so swift,
That I treasure them more,
They are so quickly gone,
And the door opens into her own mind,
A door for which
I do not have the key,
The key to her life.