The thief

Like the Grinch's attempt to steal Christmas,
the disease (call it Alzheimer's or dementia,
either way, dressed like a thief) steals the memories, 
the abilities, the words that define a person.
Even snatching away our opportunity to grieve the losses,
like the last crumb left on the floor.

But wait. Skip ahead to the end of the story,
where the song is heard, quietly at first and then clearer and louder.
True meanings revealed.

Now look closer at the story you are living.

There, a smile. A nod.
A comical expression - one eyebrow up, the other down.
A kiss blown in my direction.
Blue eyes, yes, still sparkling.

It's funny. So much has been taken,
shoved up the chimney in a burlap bag.
And yet, the words he speaks most often these days are
"thank you".

How could that be? All that has been stolen
and still, gratitude remains.

He reaches out and touches my shoulder.
He doesn't know my name.
He doesn't know his granddaughter sitting next to him.
That's okay.

I am reminded by his touch, his expression,
his presence, that we don't need words or memories
to manifest love.
It is here. It is now.

So we continue, one day after another,
connecting however we can, whenever we can.
Waiting for the happy ending on the final page.
A gift, a promise, that cannot be stolen or broken.

Thank you.