"It's time for bed, I'll get you ready."

I helped her stand, she was unsteady

The walk from room to room was slow

I almost want to shout, "Let's go!"

But there's nothing she can do, I know.

Undressed, and into fresh, clean wear

Face washed, teeth brushed, touched up the hair

Then from the chair I grabbed her nightgown,

put it on and let her sit down - on the bed

and as she put her bed socks on, she said . . .

"How are your kids, what's new at your place?"

Her expression changed, at the look on my face.

"They're our kids, hon, but we haven't spoken.

And this is my place, yours and mine."

Her look spoke volumes, a tie was broken.

I asked her if she thought she knew me;

she pulled on a sock and said, "Not really."

"I'm your husband, the guy you married.

Don't you know me?" I was feeling harried.

"Well I know you're good looking,

so I guess I should try."

I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

I tucked her in bed and kissed her good night

then I asked her once more, to quell my fright,

and brushed back her hair - she just shook her head.

We stared at each other, no words to exchange.

In a matter of minutes I became someone strange.

My eyes became blurry as I kissed her again,

then I shut out the light to disguise my pain.

Alone in a chair, I stared at the wall.

A lifetime together, now nothing at all.

Can I carry the struggle for what time there is left?

Can I find enough strength to move on?

Instead of hope positive, will our lives be bereft,

and remain that way 'till she's gone?

I have to believe, somewhere inside, she knows me . . .