Every week I go in, checking on them as I do my rounds. 

Ensuring no one needs anything, and if they do, that they receive as much care as I can give. 

Some days are rough, though not because of illness, 

but because of the memory of health

The heartbreak comes in the moments of lucidity, 

when the grainy photographs trigger memories of a youth,

Much stronger and more vibrant, full of promise and excitement,

Pictures of small children who grew to be adults with children of their own, 

who had lives and interests and experiences,

Good and bad

My heart aches for the lost youth, 

now trapped

in a body and mind rusted and worn with the years

I watch as the spark lights, and the spirit returns to the days of gold,

And weep as it dims in dullness once more