Last night, I met an 87 year-old professional baritone singer who told me he was in the ER for "something like the flu", but his chart indicated it was for confusion. We talked for a long time, and while a little mixed up on some items, he seemed rather lucid with most of his thoughts. We talked about war, North Africa and music. He also spoke about how his wife died a few years earlier from complications surrounding dementia and how hard it was to care for her while knowing there was little he could do to affect the eventual outcome of her disease. On her last day though, she had opened her eyes and apologized for putting him through so much, and then passed away quietly with him next to her.
Before I left, we shook hands and he thanked me several times.
I have a wonderful life, I do.
This gentleman's favorite songwriter was Irving Berlin and when I hear those sweet simple tunes, they remind me of my dad and all those other dads too.