You didn't know me,

and I only knew you,

when you were whole, Rosemarie.

Before the thief Alzheimers decided to choose you.


My mom told me this story,

about getting lost in the store.

She was sick with worry,

Until she saw your high perm in all its glory.


That hair eventually went away,

but was my anchor to you in the beginning.

I still saw you, though you were disappearing more everyday.

That's the first time we lost you, but it wasn't quite the ending.


You were still here, a beautiful rose.

Alzheimers exposes your true soul;

You were genuine; silly, and never morose.

A rose by the name of Rose, the thorns removed and replaced with bows.


Alzheimers, heart attack, and even breast cancer,

all tried to take you, and you had no clue.

Why you thrived, we don't need answers,

we're just grateful you didn't know what you were going through.


I clung to every word that came from your lips,

as I watched you "put on your face."

You taught me to respond with quips,

and the Pope is the only man who can tell me my place.


My mom called me tearfully,

and before she said it, I knew.

We lost you again, I felt the finality.

To the thief COVID-19, who decided to choose you.


Now I watch as my mom grieves her own mother,

a pain I can't relate to, but I still feel the slap.

A disease my mom tried her best to help smother,

all while being told, don't fall into the trap.


My mother is her mother's child,

and you won't catch her giving in.

Her temperament is not always mild,

because she believes in the fight like modern day Jane Austen.


Rosemarie's daughters, you are women to behold.

You turn your grief into empathy and teach us to swim,

When we're drowning in tears and everything is cold.

Because you share your strength, Rosemarie's light will never dim.

I am my mother's daughter,

it's the greatest of life's privileges.

I will never, ever falter

because of the lessons from Rosemarie's daughter.