Oh, my goodness, this is scary. I'm one of seven children, and by mere coincidence, my father's name is close to the man you reference in this poem. It frightens me that this EXACT thing will happen to him. The details in which you structure this poem are just so real. You feel as though you are walking beside Arthur or Molly with these lines. These are the simple things, the simple steps that make a life. The small words that you use here to create such a flowing image are fantastic. I have chills. This is very good. I mean, I could go line by line and dissect this thing to its elements, yet there is no need. Plus, you know, I'd bore you. Well done, Vicki.
Author's Response: Thank you so much, Kuri, for writing a review for this poem. I originally put it up on my poetry thread in Poetry, Anyone?, asking my fellow poets if they thought I should dare to post it on the archives or if it had crossed some boundary of inappropriateness. Nagini Riddle of Gryffindor urged me to post it, but you are the only reader who has responded. Maybe it's the sort of topic that one either identifies with or does not. But it is scary, so scary that we are all in denial about its ever happening in our own families. (My reference in DH is the reception after Bill and Fleur's wedding, when older members of the wizarding community are described as being "loopy" or "gaga", terms that indicate a mockery of dementia and a lack of understanding about its tragedy and burden.)