Beach Glass
F:”What happens next?”
J:”I don’t know. Lets wait until Kathy gets home and make a plan”
F:”Where’s my getup and go?”
J:”I think you have it. You just have to use it.”
(grunt, then silent pause.)
…
…
F:”What happens next?”
J:”Lets get in the car and go for a drive.”
F:”Where are we going?”
J:”We’ll go get hot cocoa and then maybe to Holmes Harbor. Now would be a good time to go to the bathroom”
F:”I think I’ll go empty my bladder”
J:”Good Idea”
…
(a few minutes later)
F:”What happens next?”
J:”We’re going for a drive.”
F:”What do I need?”
J:”Just your shoes and your cane.”
F:”Do I need my purse?”
J:”No, just your shoes and your cane.”
F:”I can just go along for the ride.”
…
(As we pull out of the driveway)
F:”You’re driving too fast for a rural road. Where are we going?”
J:”We are going to get hot cocoa first”
F:”I’m just along for the ride. I like to go out and about.”
(We park at Holmes Harbor, Hot cocoa and mocha’s in hand.)
J:”I’m going to take a short walk on the beach. Do you want to come with?”
F:”No, I think I’ll just sit here and enjoy the view.”
…
…
On the beach, I savor my mocha and my privacy.
Small waves lap rhythmically.
The beach is littered with exoskeletons of deceased bivalves.
My eye catches a dull geometric shape, frosted gray.
My forefinger and thumb worry its soft boundaries,
probing for some reminder of its original edge,
but, saltwater, sand, and time have worn the shard
to a comfortable, if diminished, patina.
…
…
(As we drive away)
F:”What happens next?”
…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fran is 85 years old and in an advanced stage of Alzheimer's dementia. We are fortunate to spend these days in her company. ...
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Love this, Jason. You are a patient and loving son-in-law, and friend. xoxo