You started out a two-bit thief,
Sleeping through the sun-drenched days, lazy and unmotivated.
You only came out at night, back then, sneaking around
Gaining entrance through carelessly unlocked windows, helping Yourself
To the old woman’s unimportant memorabilia.
Then you stepped it up a notch,
Breaking and entering through bolted and chained doors,
You disabled her alarm system over and over again.
Stealing more valuable possessions every time you cased her joint,
Terrorizing her with anger, confusion, fear,
Taking everything, except the knowledge that you’d return.
Now she hears the final frightening footfall,
Your brazen steps storming through what’s left of her mind.
She can no longer name another living soul,
Dementia, what a Master Thief you’ve at last become.
Posted by Katy
on 05/18/11 at 11:28 AM
- I saw your blog and read your posting on dementia. Dealing with this very thing in with my Dad and my Father in Law... Such a wicked thief... just like you describe. You are Carrie's Mom... I remember you from Maranatha. I am Candice's Mother. :) God Bless.
Posted by Terrie Snelson on 06/21/11 at 10:45 PM
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