Christmas at the Care Home

Familiar bells ring out for supper, 

Summoning a stampeded of scooters 

And wheelchairs - 

The usual state of affairs 

At Bullfinch house.  

Yet not even a mouse 

Stirred on this sparkling evening,

Of disbelieving - 

And grieving  

For archived memories 

Woven within family-adorned trees; 

Consumed alongside cranberry-infused cheese.  

Salmon sandwiches normally awaited Mai, 

But not on this quiet and festive day. 

Portuguese staff lay out an exquisite buffet, 

As their Christmas evolves on 24 December - 

A custom they wish to honour and remember.  

Yet Mai did not feel like being a member  

Of such jovial and congregated harmony - 

Preferring to sit alone and sip on Earl Grey tea. 

Pathetic fallacy; 

The sky knitted in hues of grey, 

As observed by Mai 

On Christmas Eve - 

As she refused to appeal for a reprieve; 

Compassionate leave 

To a world of magical footsteps 

And candy-infused breakfast crepes.  

Security in the solitude of salmon, 

Mai cannot find in ginger-glazed gammon. 

Triggered by whispers of sharing 

From staff dedicated to caring, 

Mai felt an invisible void,  

As she silently snuggled to the boxed-scent of Boyd, 

Who carved her meat every Sunday,  

And gifted her a weekly bouquet 

Of yellow roses. 

Now Mai is plagued with neurosis 

And cardiac fibrosis - 

A bleak mid-winter prognosis.  

A diagnosis 

That has saddened her soul - 

Now immobilised under a blanket of Kohl.  

 Warped in a world of endless evergreen, 

She sits unseen  

Under the twinkling lights of a Christmas wreath - 

Wondering as to what she did bequeath, 

To those who no longer visit her 

With equivocal gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 

Strangers carved with familiar faces, 

Fill neurological barren spaces, 

With hesitant graces  

And estranged embraces; 

Traces 

Of a trodden path 

Now void of tread, 

As Mai awaits an effortless deathbed.  

While plagued with Parkinson's and acute memory loss, 

The emblematic presence of one pinned to a cross, 

Triggers tremors of terror on the eve of his birthday - 

Amnesic to why society pray 

On this merry night. 

Midnight mass, 

Resounds through religion-stained glass, 

As though society has forgotten the plight 

That was to befall this man named Jesus; 

Foreshadowing freezes  

In festive forgetfulness.  

 The world prepares for joy in December, 

To celebrate someone who will end as an ember - 

Slowly burning in the souls of the devout, 

And thanked by those who simply join the festive bout 

Of brilliant abundance.  

Mai had been gifted gratitude in years past, 

But this year, she felt simply downcast; 

Aghast  

At her life resembling a stranger on a cross, 

Untethered like floating Christmas moss - 

Trapped in an aquarium of unconscious thought,  

A space so woefully wrought.  

From birth to crucifixion, 

Mai affiliated with the macabre hues of Dali, 

Whilst others feasted on Corpus Christi 

And chestnut-cranberry embedded brie - 

Served to her by a member of staff 

Who wished for Mai’s expressionless laugh;

A sign of ‘normal’ festive expression, 

Rather than mental digression. 

Reluctantly,  

Mai attended the buffet. 

She sat and smiled as a melancholy mirage - 

Fractured and displaced, 

Laced 

In the threads of a previous life, 

When she was both a mum and a loving wife. 

She has a daughter who has died in her mind, 

For whom everyday she strives to find. 

But Mai’s memory makes her blind 

To the loyal love of family - 

For which Mai cannot always see. 

 Yet, on Christmas day as every other, 

This woman comes to see her mother. 

Unbeknown to Mai 

Her daughter visits every day. 

And for a short moment in time,  

The Sad and sublime 

Come together over a key-lime 

Pie 

On Christmas day.  

Until tomorrow she told her mum,  

And Mai’s face glowed like the sun 

In recognition 

And admission  

Of reality - 

For she is living in world we cannot see. 

*** 

We do not abandon those who we love, 

Even if they wish to be disposed of. 

Visit the elderly in care homes this December, 

For we too will not always remember.  

But we will acknowledge kindness, 

Despite suffering from bleak mid-winter blindness. 

Alleviate loneliness and bear in mind, 

That we will only find 

The true beauty of mankind, 

When we do not leave any human behind.  

 Happy Christmas to all the elderly in care homes this festive season.