A beloved member of my family has dementia. For him, and for those of us around him, this presents odd moments of beauty, as well as moments of reflection.
For example, when we’re driving somewhere, each of us in the car is called to examine the clouds, their beauty, their meaning, and (it’s unspoken but hard to avoid,) our own meaning.
It’s like when we were kids, flat on our backs in the field, watching the sky change, nudging and kicking each other, betting who could see a movie star in the sky, first. As for me, I never saw anything. I never saw the angels breathe into me the love that would carry me forth. I only see the beauty of the clouds, in their singularity, and in their entirety.
The photo is mine, copyright 2016, Virginia Galfo