Despite Alzheimer's.

I talk to my Alzheimer-riddled friend Ron. In a soothing voice.  While sitting next to him.  On a park bench. On a  sunny spring day. A gentle breeze. Feels like a caress.  I’m describing the scene. In  my own words. Helping. Helping. Helping Ron to see what I see. And feel.  ‘Isn’t it wonderful? To be here. To savor the moment. So peaceful. So quiet.’ I ramble on. Peace and tranquility on Ron’s face.  He’s absorbing it all. Grasping the moment. Won’t remember later. But that’s all right. Bliss comes. And goes. Ron doesn’t have to remember.  That he experienced pleasant and real life. What if? When one dies. There’s nothing. No memory. As if one never lived. But still, maybe life was worth the journey. To have felt joy. Contentment, too. A brief forever. In the now. That counts for something, doesn't it? I resume my monologue. Trying to reach Ron. With good vibes. Good thoughts. ‘Can you hear the music? Is that a symphony orchestra? Listen. Listen. Listen. Maybe that’s the Ode to Joy.’  I wonder. Ron has an imagination, doesn’t he? A pretend world. Sure enough. Ron smiles. Lifts his hands. As if directing an orchestra.  Ron won’t remember that either. But Ron lived today.  He’s still mindful enough. To be reached. Despite Alzheimer's. –Jim Broede