Personal reflection – a Visit with Red – written April 28, 2012

I walk through the door to his room…quietly. He is lying on his left side, his back to the door, his body turned toward the windows, in a fetal position.

His wife of 50 years had put him there. Couldn’t care for him anymore at home. That was a year ago.

Now he didn’t know her name or recognize her face.

The usual visits are the theater of the absurd. Becket’s’ Waiting for Godot. Blank stairs. Monologues. Boredom. Wondering why I go…except…he’s there. I could be too.

I tiptoe around the foot of the bed. I hear his voice. His eyes are closed. His lips are moving. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take” – the prayer he committed to memory as a child.

Slow - Children

He finishes and seems at peace. I pause…quietly speak his name…and place my hand gently on his shoulder. He opens his eyes.

“Good morning, Red. It’s Gordon.”

Blank stare.

“Your pastor…from Knox Church.”

His eyes grow wide. He smiles. He reaches out his hand…and looks me in the eye – a memory unlocked from deep within his soul…beyond the reach of Alzheimer’s.

“The Church Choir” –  Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, April 28, 2012

Words sung can be remembered long

after words said.  A person with

Alzheimer’s still may sing a song

recalled from church or school.  The myth

that music is a gift for few

blessed with a perfect pitch is just

malicious:  any in a pew

who talk can sing!  Of course, they must

speak S-L-O-W-L-Y and (the hardest thing

of all) must listen to others

around them–and follow the fingers

or baton of conductors

who beg and plead, talk loud or soft

to lure folks into the choir loft

All these years later…I wish I’d sung with Red  that day. “Jesus loves me; this I know…” S-L0-W-L-Y… from the choir loft… in the nursing home.