My mother is in the middle stages of Alzheimer’s. It’s a wild disease, and my writing became consumed with how to express the many emotions wrapped around all of us involved. It’s wild in the way it feels undomesticated and unpredictable. At times, the look in my mom’s eyes takes on the appearance of a feral cat. It’s also wild in how fast it progresses, like weeds growing untamed and tangled, taking over a garden.
Formal poetry gave structure for the chaos, and the repetitive lines lent themselves to the nature of the disease. I started writing sonnets, ghazals, pantoums, and also a long poem, but then began experimenting with visual erasure poetry for the first time.
As a way to support our dad, my siblings and I joined him in a six-week online Savvy Caregiving Class hosted by the Alzheimer’s Family Support Center. I found myself zoning out during the weekly Zoom sessions, doodling on the hefty, informative manual provided to us. I was drawn to certain words and phrases within the text and began improvising. The idea of shaping tangled neurons and beta amyloid plaques was inspired by my desire to find new ways of expressing the absurdity yet rather beautiful intricacies of nature’s own designs. There was also, of course, the disease’s actuality of “erasure.”
As the youngest of four children, I spent time with my mother while the others were in school. We formed a close bond singing to John Denver and eating soft pretzels at the mall. Our relationship was an easy one and it was fitting when my parents built an in-law addition so that my family and I could live close by. We lived next door to one another for nearly 20 years and she was instrumental in helping raise my two children. When my husband and I wanted to move to Cape Cod full time, my parents instead decided to move to an assisted living residence.
During the pandemic, both of my parents got COVID and my mom was hospitalized. Her mild dementia escalated and we decided to move them closer to help my dad care for her. Over the course of 18 months, we watched the disease progress. Fortunately, my mom’s gracious spirit has helped her navigate and accept her confusion. Ultimately, my parents moved back to the assisted living residence to benefit from the more structured environment and memory care support offered there.
The visual poetry published here is part of a larger manuscript titled Maintenant based on my experience as a secondary caregiver for my mom, specifically during her time living near us on Cape Cod Bay.
— Christine Jones