Today we visited my 87 year old father-in-law in the veterans home where he now lives. My head is full of thoughts. It is difficult to put them into words.
The room was a smattering of old men sitting in chairs, some sleeping, some staring, a couple smiling. A few were wearing World War II Veteran caps, which told me they were most likely over the age of 90.
These men who were once strong and brave and fought against evil ideology and lost friends and brothers, sitting here in a room snoozing at 11:00 a.m. while Twister runs on all three large screen TVs. What a sad ending, not of Twister, but of their lives.
My father-in-law was a builder. As he shuffled down the hall toward his room, he paused to examine the wooden banister. He looked beneath it and twisted and tugged on it to test its strength. I am certain that somewhere in his clouded mind he was examining the craftsmanship.
That was momentary. Those thoughts flew away like a startled sparrow and he went back to mumbling and shuffling.
The staff is pleasant. But there is a disconnect when thirty-something year old women in ill-fitting multi-colored scrubs are treating these heroes like children at a day-care center.
I get it. I often deal with my own mama in the same way.
The answers to these issue evade me. Perhaps it is as uncomplicated as simply the circle of life.
Twenty years ago I was 40, it feels like a blink of the eye. Twenty years from now I will be 80. I am oh so hoping that that eye blink will be in super slo-mo.
It’s the circle of life
And it moves us all
Through despair and hope
Through faith and love
Till we find our place
On the path unwinding
In the circle
The circle of life
As long as young, brave Simbas keep coming along, maybe there is hope.