Sent to me by Bill Bauknecht

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Sent to me by Bill Bauknecht

Postby gmattson » Sun Nov 12, 2000 10:51 pm

Try To Remember"
Who is really inside?
When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a hospital in England, it appeared she had left nothing of value.

The nurse, packing up her possessions, found this poem. The quality so impressed the staff that copies were distributed to all the nurses in the hospital.

This poem then later appeared in the Christmas edition of "Beacon House News,"
a magazine of the Northern Ireland Mental Health Association.

This was the Lady's bequest for posterity.


What do you see nurse,
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you look at me?

A crabby old woman,
Not very wise,
Uncertain of habit
With far away eyes.

Who dribbles her food
And makes no reply;
Then you say in a loud voice,
"I do wish you'd try."

Who seems not to notice
The things that you do,
And forever is losing
A stocking or shoe.

Unresisting or not,
Lets you do as you will;
With bathing or feeding,
The long day to fill.

Is that what you're thinking,
Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes nurse,
You're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am,
As I sit here so still,
As I move at your bidding,
As I eat at your will.

I'm a small child of ten ...
With a father and mother,
And brothers and sisters
Who love one another.

A girl of sixteen,
With wings on her feet;
Dreaming that soon,
A lover she'll meet.

A bride soon at twenty ...
My heart gives a leap;
Remembering the vows
That I promised to keep.

At twenty-five,
I have young of my own,
Who need me to build
A secure and happy home.

A woman of thirty,
My young now grow fast,
Bound together with ties
That forever should last.

At forty, my young ones
Have grown up and gone;
But my man is beside me
To see I don't mourn.

At fifty, once more ...
Babies play 'round my knees;
Again we know children,
My loved ones and me.

Dark days are upon me,
My husband is dead ...
I look at the future,
I shudder with dread;

For my young are all rearing,
Young of their own,
And I think of the years
And the love I have known.

I am an old woman now,
Nature is cruel,
Tis her jest to make old age
Look like a fool.

The body, it crumbles,
Grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone
Where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass,
A young girl still dwells,
And now and again
My battered heart swells.

I remember the joys,
I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living
Life over again.

I think of the years ...
All too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact
That nothing can last.

So open your eyes nurses,
Open and see ...
Not a "Crabby Old Woman,"
Look closer ... see "Me."
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Sent to me by Bill Bauknecht

Postby Randy Pelletier » Sun Nov 12, 2000 11:19 pm

What a truly wonderful yet sad poem. It expresses the thoughts of an elderly person who may not be able to express themselves in the same way physically to the outside world. It really makes you take a step back and see that person in another light that they truly are and the light that they wish to be seen in.

This poem made me go back a few years to when my grandmother died and how everyone around her thought she was just a cranky old lady that was bitter with everyone and everything. She was at one time a lively, loving, and tremendously fun lady to be around. A stroke quickly erased that and things went downhill from there. Some people even thought that her passing on was better for her. I think they thought that her passing on was just better for themselves. If only I had this poem during that time to share with everyone.

Thank you Sensei Mattson for posting this.
Randy Pelletier
 

Sent to me by Bill Bauknecht

Postby david » Mon Nov 13, 2000 10:35 am

Thank you, Bill and George for sharing this:

<BLOCKQUOTE><font size="1" face="Verdana, Arial">quote:</font><HR>And now and again
My battered heart swells.
<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

I will remember this.

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