They don't know

When they look into her eyes

and see confusion and fear

they do not know how those eyes once danced with merriment

Or that she feels betrayed by unsteady legs that once carried her 
running to school and even recently up stairs  

maybe to protest the 12 hours a day standing at work

That her voice now too quiet to hear

once embarrassed us with its volume

and also called us in from playing when darkness fell

How she could do math in her head

faster than my sister with her slide rule

and knew how a book would end from the first chapter

And so today I sort through the pieces

and wonder what is disease

and what is still  her

I smile at the day she slipped from her wheelchair to her knees

and quipped to the worker who asked her what she was doing 

 “I thought I would say a few words for you while I was down here”

And yet sadly today at the restaurant

she refuses to eat salad; she says

there are bugs in it just chomping away

I see that help is unsolicited and unwanted

and yet when it does not arrive

she is hurt by the lack of caring, of attention

Mom in summary

still the same complicated confounding

collection of all that is woman, that is present, that is her.