SIX FOR BRUNCH

SIX FOR BRUNCH 

By Andy Weddington

Tuesday, 21 November 2023

Alzheimer's caregivers are heroes. - Leeza Gibbons

Saturday morning past sat six for brunch.

The dining room tastefully arranged with a dozen or so simple yet elegantly set tables; nary open seat. 

Our table - five women and me. 

The youngest a decade my senior and guess the oldest some 25 years or more of life. 

The youngest and I, strangers, had something in common - sound of mind. 

The others, too, shared commonality - varying types and states of dementia.

A young, smiling waitress approached to take orders.

Correctly, one-by-one, ladies first. 

Cheery. So patient. 

Last the waitress addressed the woman to my right, "Ma'am, would you like a cinnamon bun?"

"No thank you. I'm not hungry and they're too big and I don't like them much, anyway."

For too many menu choices and confusion, I helped with the rest of her order.

Turning attention to me, I asked for a cinnamon bun and told the woman who had just turned one down we'd split it. 

When the waitress left back to small talk. 

The youngest, to my left (of clear mind), helped me engage the others.

Challenging, most of the time.

We kept it light - about homes, families, lines of work before retiring, and interests and hobbies.

Lots of laughter. 

Genuine calm and joy. 

More than lots of repetition. 

We listened as if each time the first. Those not clear of mind none the wiser.

Patience.

The waitress returned with drinks, and placed the cinnamon bun to my right. 

I faced left to answer a question. 

A minute or two later I reached for the cinnamon bun but the plate clean.

The ladies across from me laughing. 

"I thought our plan was to split it?"

"It was good!"

"But you said you weren't hungry, they were too big, and you didn't like them."

"I don't remember."

More laughing around the table.

Meals delivered.

And more small talk. 

More of what had already been said. 

Moot, the socializing important. 

Obvious, though not at all surprising, was the complexity of discourse, any topic, possible with the woman not dealing with dementia.

She was pleasant and bright, informed, thoughtful and precise. 

Conversation with the others, limited and shallow, interesting but in a different way. 

Their vibrant histories and skills and talents slipping away; forever. 

To point, not so many months ago I crafted a Hemingway-like six words short story as summary to explain to those not familiar with dementia: Mom diagnosed Alzheimer's. Family suffers disease. 

But music penetrates their fog - reaches the soul. 

Some still dance; as if no one's watching.

Turn off the music and lights dim.  

That cinnamon bun devouring woman to my right?

Mom.

Thanksgiving Day she will again sit to my immediate right - at the table in our dining room set for eight; family all - others of sound mind (I presume).   

There's not going to be a cinnamon bun on Thursday but I assured mom she may eat all the chocolate ice cream (favorite) she wants - after dinner. 

Through childlike sparkle in eye and big grin, "You're no fun!"

Mom still knows me but these days refers to me as "the boss."

She knows, generally speaking, I take care of things but little understands all that entails ensuring her safety, well-being, and happiness. 

Yet somewhere in there she knows. 

I sense it - at times - like when we wander the park.

Life!

For these oddly rewarding times, and so much more, grateful. 

Happy Thanksgiving!