I came across this the other day, written by the Mister in a nursing home many years ago. He died seven years ago come this March. My life has gone on and blossomed in ways I never thought it would. But I miss his sense of the absurd. I miss him.
Welcome to the House of Nobody Here,
Where everyone once was somebody dear.
Come down the hallway that leads to no place;
Inside every room, see yesterday’s face.
Meet soldiers who have no wars to fight.
Judges who don’t know wrong from right.
Grandmothers unaware they ever gave birth.
Accountants unable to calculate worth.
Teachers who’ve forgotten their ABCs.
Psychologists suffering mental disease.
This is the House for holding onto the past.
And questioning how it went by so fast.
Spend some time learning how the House feels.
Pull up a chair, they mostly have wheels.
Welcome to the House of Nobody Here
Where nobody has anything left to fear.
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Oh how I miss that Roger voice. I will never forget how he filed various things under Roast Beef in the old days of paper. The work he did on Bell & Howell stays with me. My Bob’s last days — now 7 years ago for us — were very much like Roger’s. I can’t read your Fun House because I already lived it. I downloaded a few of your ebooks — now I just need a plane trip (SeaTac?!) to give me some uninterrupted reading time. You need to know how very much I have admired you — since your days of “There’s Nothing On My Calendar But Tears.” Are you still drinking white wine spritzers with a side of cheese? I may have a project in your neck of the woods ….
That is really awesome. Thank you for sharing.
That was very touching; thank you for sharing it.
Dementia is a horrible fate for the family, but I sometimes wonder if the person suffering (?) from it isn’t really a bit better off, especially if it involves a nursing home habitat. Mother, father and mother-in-law all trod that path, and I’m not really looking forward to my “golden years”. So grateful to have those words from you. Truly sums up what the existence appears to be.
So very sad but true. I’m in FL, Dad is in PA. Sometimes he doesn’t talk to me. Other times, he tells stories that i don’t know if they are true, a dementia dream or a childhood memory from long ago. We’re not sure he even remembers Mom dying. He never mentions her except one time he told me that she left and took all his money. Although they tell me he has his bad days, he is quite the social butterfly, quite different from the rather quiet father i knew. He teases the nurses and i wonder if he was like this as a boy. Thank you for sharing this piece with us. I will often think of it.
Wow, what powerful thoughts he put together from such ordinary words. I will think of this piece for a long long time. Thank you for sharing it and thank you Roger.
Very poignant, Linda. Seven years? That doesn’t seem possible! I like the picture of the stump with the leaves that shows up on the right side of this page.
Virtual hugs,
Judie