Your January (a poem for my father)

Your January (by Amy Nocton for my father)

 

Now that you no longer remember anything or

anyone, who will alert us

to death?

 

I remember, when I was child, how you would tell me

of deaths foreseen,

of the relations you visited

 

before they said good-bye

to you and

to us.

 

You explained to me how in dreams,

of long ago nights, all

of a sudden you would know…

 

You would know that the moment had arrived

for one last kiss,

for one last touch of the cheek or

 

the hand.  And, armed with your affection,

of brother, of nephew, of grandson, or

of son, you went,

 

almost always in a January

of a certain year,

of a certain century.

 

But, now, you are no longer who you were,

and you do not even have the voice to share your dreams.

So, who will prepare us when your January arrives?

 

DRAFT Jan. 18, 2018

Amy Nocton

 

I wrote this poem for my father who is suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s.  When he was younger, he always dreamt about the death of his loved ones just before they died.  Thus, he always managed to visit them for one last kiss or one last touch of the hand or cheek.  Moreover, many of our relatives have died in January.  My father, who is in his mid-seventies, became much worse in the past few months, so much so, that we were thinking this could be his last January, but now that he no longer is able to advise us that it is time to say goodbye, who will alert us that we need to visit him to bid him farewell?