Mother's Day 2014

In her deep, raspy voice she would shout,
"HELP ME." "HELP ME." "HELP ME."
Sounding like her life was in terrible danger
"HELP ME." "HELP ME." "HELP ME."

But she only wanted to have you help her
Take her bib like cloth napkin off her neck
Take her back to her room to the bathroom.
Maybe show her, her sugar free juice drink.

But she yelled and yelled like she was all alone
Alone in her mind, in her self, in her world
And maybe with the Alzheimer's confusion
She was alone in her mind, her self,  her world

One night at dinner she was at it again.
"HELP ME." "HELP ME." "HELP ME."
I shushed and reached over to hold her hand,
She held back and didn't need to yell anymore.

Evelyn. Quite old. Hair thinning. More wrinkles than not,
She yelled, "HELP ME." "HELP ME." "HELP ME."
This morning, Mother's Day, at 6:00 am, she passed.
Given the last blessing which crying for help can bring.