Bird Watching
I’ve been observing my Grandpa for the last 15 days. He is 92 and has stage 6 Alzheimers. He whistles tunes that don’t make sense, uses the wrong words, and can’t recall tasks he’s done each day for the last 36 years. Despite the Lieutenant Colonel’s inability to give or follow orders, he’s happy in his world of one.
Each day we eat lunch and after we’ve taken our seats with our sandwiches, the same topic comes up a few bites in. “Oh my! The bird is back!” Grandpa points towards the window with delight. “From here I can see it, flapping it’s wings, struggling to stay on the branch”. He is enamored with the daily return of the bird. There isn’t anything each day that he gets more excited about.
Today I discovered there is no bird. It’s the leaves and the branch and the way it all turns when a breeze catches it. But, you can’t kill a bird that was never alive – so I play along. Of the three of us I don’t know who is more cookoo.
