Dear stranger

Dear stranger,

I didn’t really know you very well. It is not like I had known you for years. I had only been a carer. It had been my profession and my duty to care for you, but I can promise you I CARED for you. You meant something and everything to me.

You had come to us 3 months ago and I have seen then, you were a fighter. You were not able to speak or walk anymore, your vision was fading. But you were able to think and feel.

This horrible disease took the better of you. I knew from the beginning you had come to us, you were innocent, that you did not deserve this and I am thinking about this until now. I had respected you with every wash I gave you, with every pad I changed, with every spoon I fed you.

I could tell you were in great pain. I tried to hide my pain, my tears and my fears. I kind of felt this pain too, you know. You could not speak but I knew what you wanted to say. With time I began to learn and understand the things important to you.

Every day I walked past your room, your body, now only skin and bones seemed to become whiter and whiter. Emerging with the sheets you were lying underneath.

I entered the room and smiled at you. You lifted your hand. You wanted to write something on your board. Dear it was the worst handwriting I have ever dealt with, but I accepted it. I tried to figure out the words you wanted to get rid of. Like guessing a crossword, it seemed. I did not mind having this kind of conversation.

I held your hand when you were sleeping. I could feel you wanted to go. You had no strength holding on anymore. You were in pain and you did not want to cope anymore. Your gums were sore and your throat swollen. The only thing you were able to swallow was ice cream. The light was blinding you so badly, it had to be dark.

You wanted to die in the dark. You were losing this battle and for the first time in your life you surrendered. I understood.

Your breathing became shallow and I knew it was about time. My heavy heart throbbed, when it had happened, even though I was not there.

When I came back the next day, you were gone. The war was over. And all that was left were innocent ruins.

Motor neurone disease had won and took over your body.

But not your soul. No, No! Your soul had been finally released. You were free and had not to suffer anymore. I was not sad you were gone. I was happy and I knew my colleagues took good care of you. You had passed peacefully while it was read from the bible to you.

Dear stranger,

You have done a good deed for me. I you have made me realise what life is and how well it is to be appreciated. I thank you for this. I owe you for this.

When I had written this poem, I did not know I wrote it for you. But now I know. I had no opportunity to share it with you. It was written between dusk and dawn. Buried deep within the troubles of my soul, when I had my own battles to fight.

This is dedicated to you. This is my deed for you.

Mute

Words are here to be said .

But I am mute .

No vocal or sound,

is leaving my ground

It is only me and my thoughts ,

me and my vows ,

living inside ,

until the other one drowns .

Silently they eat me up ,

swallow me like a piece of cake ,

hungry for things ,

which need to be said .

But I am mute .

My hands in the air ,

making gestures ,

I think this is not fair ,

crying inside, crying in despair .

I am angry, but I cannot shout .

Silently I watch the world pacing around me ,

moving without me ,

BEING without me.

Day in and day out ,

I follow the crowd ,

I smile and I nod ,

pretend to be here... but I am not.

So I write and write…

hoping one day ,

my words will be read ,

and my thoughts will be kept .