Not Ungiven
Anyone who has touched the mystery of Alzheimer’s whether personally or indirectly knows the mystery, often the sheer terror, it represents. Mother Agnes Day, for many years abbess of Wrentham, found a way of articulating this experience from within, beautifully. Rereading her poems, I am touched anew, not least by this text, which speaks of trial embraced as part of a total, unflinching, serenely trustful monastic oblation:
O Lord, here is my candle. Blow it out.
I am no better than my father in my fear.
I ask no more of words than YES.
But while I still have consciousness
I would not slip away ungiven!
Her sisters said of her: ‘It would be hard to describe how much Mother Agnes meant to our community or how good she was.’
