Seeing for Miles

"OH GOOD! IT'S YOU!" he exclaims looking up from the junk mail he's opening at the Kitchen Table which is how he fills his empty days.

"It is," I say leaning over to hug him and he tightly squeezes in return.

He smiles and gives me his undivided attention, dropping the letter opener and the mail.

"It's good to see you too," I laugh. "Now tell me who I am."

The smile fades as he concentrates struggling to remember.

Light flashes in his eyes and the grin returns, "Philip" he announces.

"No, it's Micheal," I reply hitting his arm.

"OH HEY MICHEAL!" he gleefully exclaims. "HOW'S CHE?"

"Seriously," I laugh. "You can remember my baby's name, whom you've never met, but you can't remember mine?"

"Want some coffee?" he offers.

"You killing me," I sigh.

"I'm the one on Hospice," he quickly counters.

"Touché," I laugh.

He begins speaking in multiple languages ... French, German, Italian ... before I call halt, holding up my hand in front of his face, and he stops looking at me intently.

His son watches our exchange as does his full time caregiver, in the home where his wife recently passed in with him cuddled beside her in their bed, and me and Nurse Vickie ... I don't know what we were doing ... we certainly weren't in charge of anything ... we were simply there.

"Don't leave me," he pleads after 50 years of marriage.

But she was ready ... had told me so ... so she left him.

I thought it would kill him but the man is amazing and has rebounded though he couldn't call my name if his life depended on it.

Standing to leave, he grabs my hand and loudly announces, "YOU ARE MY BEST FRIEND! I LOVE YOU!"

Crying, I hug him again and say, "I love you."

Stoically his son blurts, "You came all this way just to see him?"

I don't care for his son ... or his brother ... who bide their time ... waiting ... calculating ... anticipating ... passing the buck they'd rather count in the inheritance.

"Yeah," I say. "I'll be back before Christmas," I tell the caregiver ... ignoring the son.

"It's Christmas?" he asks. "I knew that! I got a Christmas Card from my daughter ... I think she's dead ... is she?"

"Yeah," I squeeze his shoulder. "Remember ... she fell off a horse."

"She did?" he asks.

Driving back for lunch with Sarah and our girls, I'm lost in thought, mesmerized by the lights God's throwing on High Tides in the marsh.

"You're a Dinosaur," a dear friend tells me. "An old fashion plumber who doesn't use the latest technology or shortcuts ... and's only needed by the occasional person who needs a fix when no one else understands the old fashion ways."

On Sirius XM is blasting "Deep Cuts" through the open sun roof gliding through the marshes carrying me home to Tybee Island as "The Who" reminds me "I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles."

Maybe it didn't help the Dinosaurs to see that far ... but I swear ... it helps me.