My grandmother was an amazing woman who died many years ago.  She was my first experience as an adult (and new mother) of dementia and visiting someone in a nursing home.  She did not have a clue who I was.  On a good day she would call me my father’s name (I favour his side of the family) but she alway, always wanted to hold her great grand son.  I am not sure who she thought he was, because my father only had daughters.  This is a poem I wrote after the nursing home staff cut her amazing long hair and changed my grandmother into someone else.  (She had never had short hair)


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