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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
 
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Everyday Canvas #934202 added May 8, 2018 at 11:45pm
Restrictions: None
The Heart Doesn't Forget...
Prompt: "What the mind can't remember, the heart doesn't forget." Write anything you want about this. This applies to Alzheimers Disease or anything else you have in mind.
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I didn’t know this quote applied to the Alzheimer’s Disease. The second I read it, I thought of PTSD sufferers who, even though they suppress the memories in their minds, end up reliving them in their dreams every night. It goes to show what we wish to forget, we don’t if our hearts remember it.
Sometimes I see a sweet smile on someone’s face and it immediately reminds me of someone else from my past, a friend or a relative, even though I wasn’t consciously thinking of them.
On the sore side, the more painful an experience the more our mind will work hard to make sure we don’t forget it, so we don’t make that mistake again. And if the painful experience wasn’t our mistake, then our heart will remember when spotting the same heartbreak someone else is experiencing. This makes me believe that our hearts are created to teach us empathy.
Then back to the Alzheimer’s, such a devastating disease, and yes, the person may not consciously remember a nice gesture or a visit from a loved one, but still such actions by others make them happy. My cousin took care of her mother suffering from Alzheimer’s for twenty years until my aunt’s death. My cousin, who I think is up for sainthood, says her mother, even during her later years, smiled and felt happy after my other cousins visited her. I think even though her mind stopped working, her heart felt the love offered to her. After all, in all our lives, not something material but a beautiful moment is what matters the most.
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