Only
fools take little or no care to create and store happy memories as they go
through life or on wintry days, when a north wind blows, they will have little
or nothing by which to warm themselves, take hope, and feel inspired.
Be sure,
second hand memories won’t do the trick.
I have
said much the same thing before and a reader got in touch to say that his
partner has Alzheimer’s so what use are their happy memories?
Well, I
believe that a person does not have to articulate on happy memories to enjoy
them; the spirit of that happiness never dies
and will sustain us through just about anything. In my experience, where that
spirit is weak or absent, the human heart tells a very different
story.
I have known
people with Alzheimer's and other forms of dementia Carers have related experiences about loved ones with the illness as it progresses; many of those who have it seem able to convey
and live (for much if not all the time) in the spirit of a happy past even though they
cannot recall it in much or any detail. Perhaps this is wishful
thinking of my part, but an overwhelming impression all the same.
A time may well come for ny of us when we forget the life we've had in the sense that we cannot articulate on it in any detail, but it will have left a trail of felt experiences that never quite leave us; our feelings can take us anywhere we want to be, and we do not need to choose as we are guaranteed a happy ending, if only because mind-body-spirit will be immune to anything less.
A husband and devoted
carer once said much the same thing to me so it isn’t just a poet’s rhetoric.
‘It keeps me sane,” he told me, “knowing that the spirit of the love we have shared for the best part of a lifetime
is still there, intact. True, its human container is outwardly more than a
shade battered, bruised and all but beyond recognition, but its contents will remain
as fresh, pure and precious as ever for as long as at least one of us continues
to draw breath. After that…who knows?”
Who,
indeed ...?
LISTENING OUT FOR A LOVE SONG
A north
wind, penetrating within,
purging
the soul, tearing skin
from a
body staring ruin in the face,
and no
way back to how it was.
(hope but a leaf or flower away)
swept along the wrong track,
hope fading, fear rising of losing
all mind-body-spirit that makes me
who I am ...
Blows a cruel wind, tears freezing,
faces
turned heavenwards
seeking
aid, mercy, grace, forgiveness
for the
error of our ways,
judgments
cast in stone to boost egos
begging their superiority
over minorities,
teeth showing
like the
smile on the face of a tiger
selecting
priorities
We
persevere. Let fear do its worst,
we shall
endure, see the sun shine
in our
faces again, belie the damage
of acid
rain, camouflage our pain
under slick, blank sheets of copy paper
signifying
nothing, signing us up
for
whatever the world cares
to have
us say we feel, no matter
what’s
just or real
Listen. Above a howling of wolves,
a love song making itself felt ...
Copyright
R. N. Taber 2005; 2019
[Note: An earlier version of this poem appears under the title 'When the Wind Blows' in A Feeling for the Quickness of
Time by R. N. Taber,
Assembly Books, 2005.]