By 
Book Review:
Kakugawa, Frances H. Breaking the silence: the voice of a caregiver. Nevada City, California: Willow Valley Press, 2010.
Despite the amazing achievements of science and technology, the problems of human life and destiny are not over, nor have the solutions been seriously affected by scientific knowledge. Alzheimer’s disease, which currently affects about 10% of people over 65 and 50% of those over 85, has no cure. Up to 5.3 million Americans are now living with the devastating disease. According to one study, unless new treatments are developed to decrease the likelihood of Alzheimer’s disease, the number of people with Alzheimer’s disease in the US may increase to 14 million by the end of 2050.
Read in this context, Frances Kakugawa’s book, a blend of poetry, history, and practical guidance, is a recognition of the services provided by professional and voluntary organizations that seek to minimize Alzheimer’s sufferers’ headaches, as well as suffering. of your loved ones. one is. It honors caregivers who have worked tirelessly to create a world free of dementia, stroke, or cancer, as well as helping them cope with the myriad crises of caregiving.
Breaking the Silence: A Caregiver’s Voice fuses the varied experiences of Frances Kakugawa and her fellow poets with a broad human perspective, engaging both the mind and the heart. Caregivers seek to share their compassionate spirit with a sense of gratitude to all those who help Alzheimer’s disease victims negotiate their mentally empty existence. They are not only aware of the substantial loss of brain cells or the progressive decline in their ability to think, remember, reason and imagine, or of their language problems and unpredictable behavior, confusion or loss of sensory processing of those who suffer, but they They also know how Alzheimer’s victims suffer a kind of death in life, becoming a maternal body stripped of its humanity. They have witnessed increasingly confused and helpless family members caring for the sick have often become exasperated and exhausted victims of the disease:
“Is she the mom who raised me?
Is it dementia that is ravaging my mind?
Or is it really my mom? I do not know. “
(‘More glimpses of a daughter and a mother’)
and
“I am divided between two factions in need.
Unconscious mom, daughter pushing all limits
Both out of control. “
(‘The sandwich’)
For Frances Kakugawa, caring is a mission even when the memory and image of her Alzheimer’s-affected mother linger in her life as a “noisy presence.” She gives voice to many caregivers who are ever concerned for their loved ones who cannot even perform the simplest tasks and / or are completely dependent on others for their care. She expresses the haunting fear of death:
“Is she breathing? Is she alive?”
Has he finally gone, setting me free once more?
I continue with my sentry watch. “
(‘Unspoken mornings’)
Frances not only articulates her fear, but also learns to negotiate it by bravely facing it as part of life. In fact, it makes the metaphor of death an integral part of life, whether in the form of “an empty pain”, “unfulfilled dreams” or “unlived moments”. In its deepest silences, it explores the very meaning of life:
“A second taste of wind
Raise another handful of ashes.
Be still and listen. “
(‘Song of the Wind’)
It is listening to the inner silence, which is something meditative, biblical and spiritual. It is awakening the self, the Holy Spirit, the Divine himself. When the soul goes silent, the human becomes divine. It sounds serious and exceptional, seeking harmony with the highest ideals, regardless of chaotic personal experiences. As Setsuko Yoshida says in ‘Can I?’:
“Poems by Frances this morning
Reveal the feelings of the ‘divine’
In providing care “.
Indeed, as female poets, Frances Kakugawa and her fellow caregivers (Elaine Okazaki, Linda McCall Nagata, Eugene Mitchell, and others) present a feminine yet highly human perspective of dementia-related illnesses. Jason Y. Kimura, Rod Masumoto and Red Silver, though male poets, demonstrate the ‘Prakriti’ or ‘Yin’ aspects to the rhythm of the sensitivity of other contributing caregivers. In various ways, they make Alzheimer’s a metaphor for loss of language, loss of memory, and loss of voice. His poetry, often brief and personal, and rich and insightful, becomes a means of communicating the loss of feeling, love, dignity, honor, name and relationship of the victims; In short, its isolation or threat to life itself:
“All my life I have lived
With crayons in one hand
Filling of spaces,
Spaces left by deceased lovers, relatives, friends,
Leaving pencils smashed against the walls
Creating more pain than art. “
(‘Empty spaces’)
They also use the metaphor of the challenge to survive, to exist, without fear or anxiety:
“I’m a woman,
Suppressed
Dying. “
(‘Nissei Woman’)
and
“I am not simply heaven, man and earth
Rooted by cultural hands.
Sift those sands. Yes!
I am free!
They throw me to the winds.
I stripped off my kimonos.
I opened my legs.
I am free. “
(‘Lesson 3’)
and
“When I’m 88
I will continue to be a woman
Yes! “
(” When I’m 88 ‘)
and
“I’m still here
Help me to remain a human being
I have become this shell of a woman.
In my world of silence, I am still here.
Oh, I’m still here. “
(‘Emily Dickinson, I’m someone’)
They turn Alzheimer’s into a quest to reprogram the mind, thought and attitude to overcome irreversible suffering and helplessness. As Frances very heartily states: it is the search for
“… the same umbilical cord
That once set me free
Now pull and pull me back
Where it had started.
Must be hidden
Somewhere a very divine gift
On this return trip. “
(‘Mother in child, child in mother’)
They are true to themselves while expressing their quest for the whole. With an empathetic awareness, they reveal their innate kindness, trust, and compassion to make a “symphony of truth.” At the center of his meditation is the desire to integrate, to live both in time and in eternity:
“What other way is there
Except the divine
Where love, kindness, compassion,
Help me discover little pieces of myself
That make me smile
Bring me such silent joy
At the end of each day. “
(‘Bless the Divine’)
They reveal the workings of the primary impulses of the human soul that rise above the differences of race and geographical position. In short, they give free rein to the thinking of all people in all countries.
As poet-caregivers, they face their tensions, fears and anxieties through introspection, and adapt to their internal and external conflicts, sufferings and celebrations through imaginative vision. They reflect broad social or family conditions, as well as their own personal status, with perceptions that are often different from those of male poets (or male caregivers). His search is for the real reality in the face of degeneration, deprivation, insecurity, helplessness, anonymity and death. They seek life and live with awareness of what is under the skin of the things that surround them, the psycho-spiritual tensions, the moral dilemmas, the betrayals and the paradoxes:
“Why do you say that I am sacrificing myself
Good years of my life
For taking care of my mother
When it shouldn’t be a secret
That I’m really living
In a way you’ve never lived before?
…
No, this is not a sacrifice.
It’s just reality.
I’m really living
In a way he had never lived before.
I’m living love. “
(‘What I know’)
Faced with the complexities of experiences, they demonstrate a sense of values such as love, faith, truth, tolerance, patience, peace, charity, harmony, humility, and healthy relationships. They tend to think intuitively and / or become personal, inward, toward spirit, or toward God, without indulging in intellectual abstraction. They write with poetic sensitivity. Their metaphors and images reflect their inner landscape as much as their responses to what they observe or experience externally. They are often reticent and honest in their verbal expression, and their internal vibrations touch or heighten the senses of the readers. As they create a discourse of themselves as caregivers, they also sound engaged with their home, family, children, motherhood, and neighborhood, often expressing their own vision and understanding that cuts across cultures and regions.
They seek to transcend their body or femininity and respect the woman in themselves, even if they are affected by the Alzheimer’s environment. They turn upside down and reveal what is personal but universal in their different roles as mother, wife, daughter, and feel the agony of spirit as they try to know “Who am I?”, Or “How should I live, who should I? “. be “, or” What am I looking for? Why did i come? “
When they look back or reflect on their present, they also express the need for a strong sense of togetherness in the face of their inner conflicts, spiritual hunger, loneliness, or dependence. They sound like defying Alzheimer’s itself:
“You couldn’t rob us, although we forgot.
You couldn’t erase us, although we couldn’t write.
You couldn’t keep quiet, although we couldn’t talk.
The stories, the laughs, the moments that passed
In his fortress, you couldn’t steal
In a night of silence “.
(‘Hello Alzheimer’s’)
As they fill you with hope to grow old with grace and dignity despite the challenges of loss, they create an alternative motive and drive for social action on a very personal level:
“Through this deepest dark night
I will hold the light
To take away all your fears.
I just know that I’ll always be around. “
(‘For my mother’)
There is a need to change the situation for themselves or to be at peace with oneself. The poets and caretakers of Breaking the Silence seek to create a new culture while rationalizing how we should live in the future.