musingsonwomenshealth.com

Reflections on 40 years as a doctor in Women's Health

On seeing a friend after his stroke


At first,
He was the man I knew,
And then
He wasn’t-
Some of him didn’t
Work;
He didn’t even look
The same.
I don’t mind
That –
We all wear our years
Like old clothes:
The rips and stains
Are diaries
Of our lives.
But usually,
Something shines
Inside the smiles,
The labels still
Are legible,
And,
Even smudged,
There is a link
That we can read,
A pin
That fastens us
Together.
And yet his
Has come undone,
Unpinned.
I cannot find him
In his eyes;
They do not see me
Anymore.
His voice
Though stronger,
Doesn’t use my name.
And yes,
He’s slowly returning
To his body
Now –
Or at least,
Someone is-
But
Not the friend
With whom
I’ve spent
The years
Dissecting life
And love.
So,
Maybe
He’s locked inside
Somewhere,
Wrapped in darkness
In a room,
Desperately trying
To find a door.
Sometimes, though,
I wonder
If he even knows
He’s lost…

gozzter

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