For Malcolm Young

For Malcolm Young

A gentle, elf-like man with a razor wit and soft heart

Devoted husband, father, son and brother

Loyal friend

Talented tunesmith

Shrewd businessman

But most of all, decent to the core

To have everything you worked for swiftly wiped from memory

Along with your recognition of those you love the most

A greater tragedy cannot be imagined

I believe you will remember them again when your soul flies free

I believe you will always love them regardless of what your mind allows you to recall

Those who loved your music grieve for you

And for those who love you best

Dear Malcolm, you don't deserve this

You are better than whatever disease has taken your mind away

Nothing can ever remove you from the hearts of those who love you

Especially those who were a part of you

And will be forever

You are a special person

More than a music icon

The world was a better place because of you.

Love from Blooming Psycho and Team Netherworld

Brothers and best friends, forever

AC/DC's rhythm guitarist Malcolm Young was sidelined by fast-moving dementia. At only 61 years old, his wife had to opt to put him in a long-term care facility. His short term memory is completely gone. He can't remember things that happened literally minutes before and doesn't recognize the people he loved the most. 

I wrote a little tribute to the deep bond between Malcolm and his brother Angus. Our hearts go out to Angus. This must be like losing a piece of his soul.

To My Father

 

To My Father

 

His name was Richard

He was a high school English teacher

He loved to work on cars

And motorcycles

He loved his wife and son and daughters

 

Its name is prostate cancer

It slowly stole away his life

Turning him into a shadow of his former self

But it never was able to take away

The love he had for his family

 

Or the love we have for him

 

~Wanda~

 

Richard Bates

September 10 1932 - August 28 2004

MS in 33

 

MS in 33

 

To feel my abilities slip away

To have more to do and say

Yet be unable to do even the smallest of things

I know this is what my future brings

All stolen away

~Yeris~

 

I am working off two prompts. The OctPoWriMo prompt asks for a rhyming poem, and the Trifecta prompt asks for something that scares us (or a character of ours) in 33.

The loss of my abilities to MS does not scare me so much as it depresses me. I was diagnosed 12 years ago. I have periods of remission, which are like coming into the light from a dark cell. I know that these will become fewer and farther between as the disease progresses.