We wheeled him across the street. One helium balloon already declaring in bright, bobbing shiny proclamation: “It’s My Birthday”.
He was well dressed. I was told that when he was asked what he wanted to wear he had only said: “Blue”. He was dressed in a lovely blue shirt, gray dress pants and dark blue slipper shoes. He was well groomed having just had a haircut five days before. He smelled nice.
Destination was the Italian restaurant a short block away. All was ready including the 14 guests that would celebrate this special day.
“How old am I?” The voice was tentative, slightly raspy, low and slow. The once talkative man was showing the ravages of Alzheimer’s and the onset of aphasia which began just two weeks before. The rock had become shifting sand.
“Today you are 90 years old”. The still bright eyes opened widely and the ghost of that most beautiful mischievous smile broke through. “That… no, you 90 too?”
There was laughter.
There was laughter as a favourite niece got him speaking German, and Dutch then it doubled in volume when he answered in Swedish.
The food was great, the conversation lively and the 90 year old man was happy to be the VIP, the celebrant, the focus of all around him.
A conglomeration of cards, balloons, flowers, odd items surrounded his plate. There were pop-ups, noise makers, puzzles, musical renditions of the birthday song all coming from the cards, gifts and trinkets. More helium balloons decked his chair, tied to show off the witty sayings displayed on them.
He did not say much. Each question was passed on to his wife with: “You tell them”. When she answered with an encouraging word or mnemonic aid to have him join in answering he would nod or say one or two words. And he smiled.
It was a very happy occasion and for three hours his usual tiny sliver of view of the world became a whole pie. He ate. He drank. He smiled. He saw the entire street. The cars, the bus, the gardens, the small plaza were seen at earth level, not from the constricted view from his third floor window.
Those who had not seen him for a while marveled at how well he looked. He reached for my hand and held it even as I fed him.
There was a parade going back to the home. It was a celebration.
His place at the table was crowded with his birthday gifts so some had to go into his room. The noisiest, brightest, most comical pop-up cards were shown around to his companions in the room. Flowers were on the window sill. There was no guessing who the birthday guy was as his chair was festooned with the bright helium balloons. Many came by to look and those who could, chatted, touched, stroked and wished him a Happy Birthday. Then everyone had cake with tea.
“Okay sweetheart. See you soon”.
“Bye, my Paula, soon.” It was the clearest he had spoken all day. He was my Bert.
August 17, 2023
It could have been bleak. It was not. It was filled with happy memories and I was happy to recall the last birthday party. We had no idea then that in 39 days that world view would expand to encompass the entire universe. None of his guests knew then that the next time they saw him would be for another celebration, of a life well spent.
This year his birthday party is with the stars while I was treated with lunch at a friend’s home. There was love, and I marveled at how much the world, life, business, pleasure, sadness and joy, like glass in a kaleidoscope, shifts and reassembles as you adapt to a new reality.
We walked down to the lovely creek that meanders through the property. There has been so much rain it is the fullest I have seen the water. It had risen to be lapping at the footbridge and as it rushed with musical notes to the lake it seemed to say: “You done good, girl”.
The Meander: Yes, I have.