A poem written for an aging Orville Holtan just days before his death, June, 2003, by his son, Tim Holtan
Shrinking Man
My Father’s world is changing
Spinning and drifting
What can he do to fill his time?
Those long days with no direction
To wander freely, without a care
Is unthinkable, no longer possible
He loved his cars, what fun to drive
Is it possible to get lost in your own hometown?
Better to sit and read a book
When the outside world is no longer familiar
The body aches and hands so weak
Needing help, getting frail
Gloves barely fit oer gnarled knuckles
Gratitude for a helping hand
A love for people and visiting
Desperately hanging on to reality
A world now smaller, dependence growing
A body failing, a mind betraying
His plea is simple, so very basic
Remember me, visit me
Help me, love me.
A shrinking man, a little man
Whose world shrinks too
So fast, too fast.
Poem written by his youngest son, Tim Holtan