I’m Glad You Came Today

I’m Glad You Came Today

I’m Glad You Came Today 150 150 Beckie Lindsey

There she sits; staring out the window,
Tranquil like the snow that falls outside.
Her back is to me,
Draped in a pale blue gown,
White hair standing on end.

I approach unnoticed,
Sitting on the bed beside her.
It doesn’t break her trance.
I place my hand on hers.
The vacancy remains.

What draws her attention so?
Is it a childhood memory
That carries her away from me today?
I decide to join her.
A submarine, submerged deep in thought.

I see her young again,
Remembering a day, she taught me to sew.
Her lovely hands, weave in and out of fabric,
Dark hair falling over her slender shoulders.
How patient she was with all of my mistakes.

I sojourn further,
Murky waters becoming clearer.
Taking long walks and collecting leaves.
Baking gingerbread, the house filled with the scent of spices.
Midnight snacks that lead to deep conversations that lead to making pancakes at sunup.

Tears that were met with hugs and kisses.
Fears that were consoled with wise council.
Backyard camp outs on sticky summer nights.
Schools and holidays, breakups and make ups,
And all the in-between.

Against my desire to linger, I’m drawn upward.
Rising, rising to the surface,
The waves of the past wash over me
And vanish.
The sound of her voice transports me to reality once again.

“Who are you? Why are you holding my hand?” She asks me, eyes filled with confusion.
“Mom, it’s me, your daughter.”
She struggles to focus her eyes on mine.
I can see her inner turmoil.
She stares out the window again.

No response.
Still she fixates upon something unseen.
My heart shatters into a million pieces that plummet to the floor.

Who is this shell of a person that occasionally floats into consciousness
Only to disappear like a vapor?
Oh God, please hear my prayer.
Just a glimmer.
Just give me a glimmer of who she used to be.

I feel her hand brush against mine.
A tear slips down her ashen cheek.
“I’m glad you came today, sweetheart,” she says, without looking at me.
Drawing a deep breath, I manage to whisper,
“So am I.”



Beckie Lindsey

Rebecca, aka, Beckie, is a wife and mother of three grown children and two adorable cats. She is thoroughly content with a cup of coffee, a piece of dark chocolate, and a great book. She serves in music and women’s ministry at her local church. Her passion is to encourage others to not only know the truths of the Bible, but to experience them personally and practically in everyday life. Rebecca is a freelance writer and blogger. She has been published in newspapers, online sites, devotionals, blogs, and magazines. She is currently co-writing a Bible study as well as a YA Christian/supernatural novel. Connect with Beckie below!

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  • Absolutely beautiful Beckie!! I could feel the heart of this young woman. May God hold her in His perfect Hand.

  • Becky, this is beautiful and so heartfelt. Thank you.

    • Nan, Thank you so much. The woman in the poem is me. My sweet mother had endured two brain tumors and yet it was her worst fear to suffer from Alzheimer’s disease. The Lord took her home before it got too bad. I have peace in knowing I’ll see her again along with the Lord Jesus and many other loved ones.

  • Beautiful representation of a painful and intimate moment. My story of the Enchanted Doorknob was similarly about dementia, based upon my wife’s grandfather who suffered from Alzheimer’s. So tragic experiencing a loved one’s loss of mental capacity. I gather this is a real experience for you, so my prayers go out to you and your family.

    • James, Thank you for your encouraging words. Yes, you are correct. My sweet mother suffered from two brain tumors and was showing signs of Alzheimer’s before God took her home.

  • James, You’re right. This poem was inspired by my mother. Thank you so much for your comforting comment. God uses even (and sometimes especially) the painful moments in our lives to bring comfort to others.

  • So beautiful! So so touching. Well done sister!!

  • Chills and tears. Oh, how I dread the day my Grandpa doesn’t recognize me. We’re headed that way and it kills me.

    Thanks for capturing the beauty and sadness.