"Drifting from reality to the Abstract"

My Mother is in a nursing home.
Sleep is her only escape from fear.
She was always so talented and bright.
There was nothing that she couldn't do.

She is ninety, and lost in senility.
She's drifting from reality to the abstract.
Everyday her questions are the same.
Each question asked for the first time.

Every thought questioned, is it real or dream.
Cruel, without compassion, is dementia.
It has changed who my Mother was.
Why does she continue to go on?

She would have been appalled at her plight.
There are no recognizable memories left.
What is it that keeps her going?
Her memories have been taken from her.

Constantly she searches for her past.
She continues searching for the key,
the key that will unlock her memories.
When she finally takes her last breath
then, and only then will she find peace.