Day 3,415 in the Nanny June Care Home

The One Where I had to Write a Poem Instead of Going to See Her.

She is not there

to make a five minute call

to say

so and so died,

so sad

or they had a baby.

What should we get?

She is not there

To hear “nothings wrong”

too many times

until - actually yes,

everything.

Has gone horribly wrong.

How do we fix it?

She is not there

to recreate roast dinners

from childhood.

Or show me the way

to make it.

How do I do it?

She is not there

to have the kids over

for five minutes

while I get a hair cut.

When I need help.

She is not there

To hold her grandchildren

My children

Tell them stories

About in her day.

How many days left now?

She is not there

To grab a quick coffee

Chocolate cake

and pay, as a treat.

No I’ll pay,

No let me. I insist.

Someone always pays in the end.

But what wonderful memories you have people say.

But no.

They are not special memories in a gilt edged, carved wooden box playing you are my sunshine when opened. They are the basic underpinning needs of life which are taken for granted. They do not get filed under lovely. They get filed under: Error 404 Page Not Found.

Because the phone calls got nasty. The washing machine sat with wet clothes in for a week. The sanctity of a coffee shop became the cause of a panic attack. A roast dinner became a meal of raw chicken and burnt potatoes.

For her the memories are password protected with no password and for me all is left are corrupt files.

Be Kind.

Just.

Be.

Kind.