Falling into the Abyss
This photograph of my mom with her brother and cousin is how I like to think of her today – young, carefree, laughing without a care in the world I am not alone in this – when you lose your mother to illness or tragedy it takes many years to appreciate what is gone from your life. My mother was a kind and gentle soul and she encouraged me to write when I was young. She was the one that realized that I saw the world different than most kids my age. She called me “an old soul” and it took me years to fully understand what that meant. My Mom passed away in her sleep suffering from dementia and what I call the abyss on May 31st, 1997. To this day I still feel her with me encouraging me in all that I do.
Falling into the Abyss
Her mind started falling ever so slowly into the abyss,
The present no longer existed nor could she reminisce.
Her mind tumbled and fell into confusion and a dark hole,
My mom I loved her so, but dementia stole her soul.
Over the years it slowly robbed my mom of her personality,
In the end she was a shell of herself with no more vitality.
Many days I spent with her as her mind was lost in the abyss,
At first I never knew of what was wrong or what was amiss.
Nothing as cruel as to watch one you love suffer like this,
As their mind slowly falls into swirling darkness of the abyss.
The tears I shed as the mother I knew silently died inside,
No smile, no laughter, just a blank stare from her bedside.
Kept reminding myself she was not giving me a hard time,
That dementia and the abyss was stealing her life – her prime.
I tried to help her when she could no longer remembered me,
As she lost her memories of herself and others slowly be degree.
Mom was an intelligent, gentle and caring woman I used to boast,
With her mind lost in the darkening abyss she needed me the most.
On the day she died I thanked the heavens her suffering was done,
In her battle with dementia and the abyss – the disease finally won.
Years later I have chosen to remember my mom before the abyss,
As she read stories to me as a child – this is what I love to reminisce.
Kurt James
Kurt James © 2019
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The Denver Post, PM Magazine, and 9NEWS, all well-known Denver, Colorado media sources, have highlighted the powerful and evocative work of poet and novelist Kurt James. Focusing on Old West history, Kurt contributes feature articles to HubPages and Creative Exiles, exploring the eerie silence of ghost towns, the thrilling tales of outlaws and gunfighters, and the evocative imagery found in the Rocky Mountains.
Kurt’s early admiration for writers such as Jack London, Louis L’Amour, and Max Brand played a significant role in honing his skills as a storyteller. Twenty-one books (and counting!) transport readers to the Colorado Rockies and the Old West through Kurt’s vivid descriptions; the feel of rough-hewn cabins, the sounds of coyotes howling under starry skies, and the smells of campfire smoke and sagebrush are all palpable.
Find Kurt James novels, short stories, reference books, and poetry—published by Midnight Wind Publishing—in print copies or digital downloads at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, and other excellent bookstores; explore the diverse range of formats available.
Currently in production - The 10th book in his Rocky Mountain Series - Lee Moomaw Former Lawman.
Kurt is a proud member of the Western Writers of America, a group that values storytelling.
- Riding the Timberline - May 26, 2025
- Digging up Dreams - September 16, 2024
- As the Years Roll By - November 15, 2023
We never forget the loving moments and years our mothers gave us regardless of how they become in the end of life. Your mother was a kind and old soul and it is obvious you loved each other very much, even now the love is there. Heartfelt poem about your dear mother, Kurt.
Thank you Phyllis for stopping by and leaving such a wonderful comment.
Thank you Kurt for your poem. Your love shines through. Jamie
Thank you Jamie, to shines, because it is true.
Most expressive and heartfelt. It is best to remember our moms as they once were not as when they were ill. I miss mine a lot and I knew it would never be the same again when she asked me Where were you born?
Life at the end can be cruel Rasma, thank you for stopping by.