Yesterday, I watched the sunset with someone 91 years old. Their memory has been fading this past year, making conversation increasingly difficult, as places, people, times, all merge together. But yesterday, as we watched the sun play out a dramatic show over the Olympic mountains, these failings meant much less, and once again, the person I had known emerged, for over 2 hours.
I am not sure what was more stunning: the variations in color and form presented by light and contrast, or watching an elderly mind emerge in full force in response to beauty in nature. As I write this I know it must sound trite. I wish I could make it read as it was experienced. I am at a loss for words…
As we watched, she began to point out forms in the clouds and sky, that reminded her of things and creatures. These began to be woven into stories that she told. For instance, she said, "Look, do you see the house with windows, and there is the door. It looks as though you could just walk right up to it. There do you see the path?" This was her response to a cloud formation, that was square and white, with golden squares of light. The sun then created striations of light, falling through the mist, landing just behind Bainbridge Island. It was falling onto Hoods Canal, a beloved place of hers. She noticed this, and asked someone near by, "Do you know the mileage to that location?", and waiting patiently for their answer.
These are small things. But when you love someone who is fading, they are something of great value.
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