Being a Neuroscientist

I sit here in this place full of wrinkled skin and aching bones

I see eyes glazed over as thick as waterfalls and stares that reach into space with no purpose

There are many wistful smiles wavering on the edge between consciousness and opacity

I inquire politely about their families and the sparkling presents and steaming turkey they will delve into about winking eyes and familiar laughs

Their answers tell stories of blank pages filled with words erased long ago

My heart is in pieces sledged by their utter confusion, their faces marked by questions slipping off their lips

They don't hold anymore the tender touch of a mother and her warm eyes smiling with love

The footprints of their lives have been covered in dust, blown away by their dementia

No longer can they find their way home to who they are and all the memories they have left behind, once held so dear

But a thought flutters into my mind bringing hope of something better, a life lived to the end in full instead of an empty vacuum of a human, hardly a human

To meticulously trace every signal racing through the beautiul orga that plays the symphony of our lives

My imaginaion takes my thought and runs with it through years of school and research

But the foreseen exhaustion and the sleepless nights are worth giving these people's lives back to them

The wonder of taking the mist from their eyes and restoring to them a quality of life

Their lives now: lonely trenches isolated from feeling and overgrown in pain and discomfort

But if I became a neuroscientist, they could be lifted from the trenches, one discovery at a time, until the light of a new day filled with consciousness caresses their faces

I could give them back every chapter they've lived, every face, every moment, every remembrance

And the life lessons we would learn from their stories would bring back the value that has been wrenched from them: for they are humans