I once moved into an apartment a few doors down from a retirement home. Every morning at 10, I watched from my window an old man walking around the block. One day I introduced myself, and we began walking regularly together, and we became friends.
I hadn’t seen the old New England shipbuilder for a while, and when I finally ran into him on the sidewalk he was crying. He said that he couldn’t remember my name, and he didn’t want me to think badly of him. Dementia was obviously setting in.
I asked him to sit with me on the bench nearby, where I told him not to worry, as I was sure he knew my name, but just couldn’t recall it. I also said that the day may come when he couldn’t remember me at all, and I would still consider him my friend because our real friendship was of spirit.
A broad smile appeared on his face, and his eyes twinkled through his tears, and he said to me: “Thanks, Joe.”
We had a great laugh.
