Breakfast with Mrs. B.

She is beautiful,
She is 84,
She has dementia,
Living life in her terms,
With crisp memories of her younger days.

She stays alone by choice,
With her daughter living close by, taking care of her,
Making sure her food is in the fridge,
Making sure the house is cleaned,
Making sure she has clean clothes.

But she can’t stand her daughter,
The daughter who manages her needs, visiting her everyday,
Meeting ends with her job and family, raising her own three little kids,
With no time to comb her hair,
But always wearing a smile on her face.

She adores her sons,
She enjoys their call,
As they spoke words of love and not a nagging reminder, for her medication, food or doctor’s appointment,
She waits for their visit,
And they visit once in a while coming in fancy cars, Taking her out in fancy restaurants.

Her daughter hired me to have breakfast with her mother,
Every morning, I introduced myself,
Using the same line,
I used yesterday,
She dressed well wearing a bright pink lipstick.

She spoke in rich English, with no room for using slang,
Taking me back to her sophisticated life, Taking me to places she traveled,
Showing me a world I have never seen,
As we eat breakfast together.

~The End~

An Experimental attempt to put thoughts in writing by Monica Ingudam.


Comments (3)

  1. Anonymous

    Dear Chey, your Mrs. B reminds me of my maternal eigabok who passed away many years ago. We grand children used to take turned to nursed her as there were many of her grand children. She was bed-rideen for almost 15 years its seems yet she maintained neat and cleanliness. Very minute about each and everything. I was blessed to have had with her during her last minute.

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