Blank Stare

 I suppose when you meet a man in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's your perspective on life changes.

"Nice to meet you", I said.  A blank stare ensued.

But he smiled. Roger smiled.

Followed by a blank stare.

It was on the day, the space shuttle took its final flight.

I remember these things because I can.

He has a couple kids and a wife of four decades.  They married in 1969; the year we went to the moon.

His wife and kids but not his grandkids find him exhausting.  Frustrating.  A burden.

His final days are now spent in a nursing home.  Alone.  His shirt is covered in drool.  Dignity is only a memory.  Well, it would be a memory if he still had his memories.  He's angry all the time.  Well, he's frustrated.  He doesn't want to live anymore.  He says so.  Then, he says it again and again because he forgot he made his position clear.

I heard he doesn't have long.

The first time I met him, I thought of my dad.  Well, I think of my dad a lot.  I know one thing about my dad; his name.  Well, I also know he's dead.  I believe I saw a picture of him once.  I have his eyes.

There's something to be said about memories.  Memory loss is one thing.  Memories lost is another.

"How come you don't have a dad?", I was asked in second grade.  "He spends a lot of time in space", I replied.

If you don't like the truth, create your own.  That's what kids do.

I suppose astronauts view this world a lot differently than the rest of us.  I bet looking down on Earth allows them to realize the perfect order of the universe.  I am certain they never lament how unfair life is because they know better.

Roger met his grandchildren for the very first time today.Well, it was probably the 50th time they have met him.

It was the best day of his life, he said.

When they left, his blank stare reappeared.

But he smiled.