I’m Putting Myself Back Together

The following poem is the result of a collaboration between me and my Dad, Tony Ward.

His poetry book,  ‘Unravelling Sussex’ is available from the publisher here and from other booksellers. He recently won best poem by a primary carer in a National Memory Day competition, sponsored by The Alzheimer’s Society, for his poem ‘What Will Survive of Us’, which can be found here

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I’m putting myself back together

I used to think,
“I’d better not show my mania”.
Then I got tired of worrying about what people might think,
and decided to just be myself.

Now people keep saying to me
“I love your enthusiasm!”

I used to think,
“I’d better keep a lid on my psychosis”.
Then I remembered the value of having an open mind.

Now people keep saying to me “you’re so creative!”

I used to think,
“I need to get rid of my anxiety”.
Then I found out what it takes to do the things I never thought I would.

Now people keep saying to me
“you put so much energy into that!”

I used to think,
“I can’t afford to lose time to my depression”.
Then I noticed my emotions gradually returning.

Now people keep saying to me
“you have such patience!”

I used to think,
“this is an addiction. I need help to avoid losing everything”.
Then I discovered I can take it or leave it whenever I choose.

Now people keep saying to me
“You always have the solution!”

I say to them,
“Just listen, just listen to yourself,
there is no problem you cannot solve,
no condition you cannot overcome”.

Now people are saying to me
“If only she had heard
those crucial words!”

But, haunted by praises, unseen,
she left too soon.

And now, I must myself believe,
that had she heard, that had I seen,
I would not be weeping now beside her grave,
putting myself back together.

Birdsong

One day I was feeling grumpy as I left the house, then I noticed birdsong and felt ok again. Now I make a point of listening out for it everywhere I go and as a result the world is full of birdsong.

One evening I was walking home from work. It was dark, misty and muffled. Earily silent. No matter how much I strained, I couldn’t hear any birdsong. I saw a beautiful tabby cat perched on a neighbour’s fence and wondered why I couldn’t hear any birds. Were they hiding? Do birds do that? I would generally expect to hear at least one warning cry from a sentry, alerting other birds in the vicinty of a dangerous presence. Maybe something to do with the mist, I guessed.

It was fine though. Intriguing rather than bothersome, because I knew that even if I couldn’t hear the birds in that moment, they were out there somewhere and sooner or later I’d hear them again. I reckoned I’d appreciate them even more next time I heard them, and felt some excitement in anticipation of that moment. Excitement that fuelled my enthusiasm to warmly embrace my family when I stepped back into my home.

Next morning I woke early with the dawn and a glorious firework display of chirps, calls, responses and arpegios delighted my ears all the way into the core of my soul. I couldn’t wait to start what might possibly turn out to be the best day of my life. I decided to savour that moment, and look forward to savouring other similarly joyous moments as I journey on through time.

Birdsong is my thing.

Other sensory perceptions and experiences might be your thing.

There’s another word for birdsong and any of those things.

It’s hope.