This is the Poem and note that started me thinking about how I was taking care of Dad, and how I thought about what was being said here.
When an old lady died in the geriatrics ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital. One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. …And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the authoress of this “anonymous” poem winging across the Internet. Goes to show that we all leave “some footprints in time.” <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\nWhat do you see, nurses, what do you see?
\nWhat are you thinking when you’re looking at me?
\nA crabby old woman, not very wise,
\nUncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?\n<\/p>
\nWho dribbles her food and makes no reply
\nWhen you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try!”
\nWho seems not to notice the things that you do,
\nAnd forever is losing a stocking or shoe….
\nWho, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
\nWith bathing and feeding, the long day to fill….
\nIs that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
\nThen open your eyes, nurse; You’re not looking at me.\n<\/p>
\nI’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
\nAs I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
\nI’m a small child of ten…with a father and mother,
\nBrothers and sisters, who love one another.
\nA young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
\nDreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.
\nA bride soon at twenty-my heart gives a leap,
\nRemembering the vows that I promised to keep.
\nAt twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
\nWho need me to guide and a secure happy home?
\nA woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
\nBound to each other with ties that should last.
\nAt forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
\nBut my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.
\nAt fifty once more, babies play around my knee,
\nAgain we know children, my loved one and me.
\nDark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
\nI look at the future, I shudder with dread.
\nFor my young are all rearing young of their own,
\nAnd I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
\nI’m now an old woman….and nature is cruel;
\n‘Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
\nThe body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
\nThere is now a stone where I once had a heart.
\nBut inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
\nAnd now and again my battered heart swells.
\nI remember the joys, I remember the pain,
\nAnd I’m loving and living life over again.\n<\/p>
\nI think of the years….all too few, gone too fast,
\nAnd accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
\nSo open your eyes, nurses, open and see, ..
\nNot a crabby old woman; look closer…see ME!!
\nRemember this poem when you next meet an old person whom you might brush
\naside without looking at the young soul within it……
\nWe will one day be there, too!
\nTo the world you might be one person,
\nbut to one person you might be the world.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This is the Poem and note that started me thinking about how I was taking care of Dad, and how I thought about what was being said here. When an old lady died in the geriatrics ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value. … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":45,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-46","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-comments-and-thoughts"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/02\/thumb_youngold.jpg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=46"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":154,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/46\/revisions\/154"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/45"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=46"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=46"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.vrtisworks.com\/mythoughts\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=46"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}