Lost words

Mom doesn't

have the words

she used to have.

They slip away.

Stolen by the stroke

that stole her

right-handed grip

as well.

When we can't find

a word, a name,

we say it's on the tip

of my tongue.

That's her everyday

experience.

She searches for it,

says I forget the word.

Sometimes I can

find it for her.

Sometimes I can't.

Then we share a laugh.

She told me yesterday

that she used to talk

a lot more, but now

she can't speak clearly.

She was never

at a loss for words.

And she hasn't lost

her sense of humor.

Dad designed

a meditation room

for the Betty Ford Center

in Palm Desert.

So on one occasion,

they were at a party

and Betty was waiting

to introduce them

to her husband,

the former president.

He was in another

conversation so they

were waiting for the moment.

Meanwhile, Betty got

distracted by another

conversation, while

Gerald finished his.

So they stood there

waiting somewhat

awkwardly for Betty

to make the introduction.

Mom smiled and said to Gerald,

Hi, I'm Liz Chambers

what's your name?

And everyone laughed.

She remembers that.

Even if she sometimes

calls me by the dog's name.