I once knew a photographer, an amazing and talented man. D had a wildly eclectic collection of friends, and I am glad to have been counted as one. I had just run away (sort of) to California, and he was living next door to a pal from the hot air balloon crowd I ran with. He was living with his children in a sprawling ranch-style home in the wine country and hosting impromptu summertime pool parties when I met him. His wife had high tailed it back to San Francisco, but D was happiest in the country. He was a rogue, a ladies man, and though I always enjoyed his company, I never enjoyed it like that. Not that he didn’t try: I was always swatting his hand away from my girl parts. I never took it personally, and neither did he.
After a while, D’s kids grew up, and he remarried. We remained friends. While I was never close to his second wife, we were friendly, connected by our affection to charming, lovable, dapper, D. My friend was old school. He grew up in Austria, and his family fled the Nazis. Soldiers actually visited his family home one night, took his father out and roughed him up. Soon after, the family fled Austria Von Trapp family style: over the Alps. They eventually landed in San Francisco, and then migrated up to wine country. D never lost his old world charm. He was a speaker of languages, a lover of life.
About ten years ago, his memory started to go. First it was little things like appointments, grocery lists, the exact location of car keys. Then it got gradually worse. Finally, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. There was a period of time when he would call me every week. “C,” he said. “We miss you! Please come visit!” I agreed. “Of course I’ll come,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.” And I did come. We had lunch and a visit. Somewhere along the line, he stopped making grabs for my girl parts, and it was kind of sad. I knew he was slipping away. The calls continued. Weekly. “C! It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. We miss you! Please come visit!” Yes, yes, I said. I didn’t feel too bad about not visiting as often because I realized he didn’t remember when I did.
Finally, the last time I visited with them, I happened to be in the town where they live and dropped by. This had always been our custom: drop by when you can. Visit. Have a glass of wine, share stories. This time, Wife Deux was very glad to see me. “D, look! It’s C!” she said. “Say hello!” she said. Charming and sweet as ever, D politely kissed my cheek and said hello. He hadn’t a clue who I was.
Abraham says that people like D are living in two worlds. Part of them have re-emerged with Source and are well and happy and content, while part of them remain here fulfilling a promise, not quite yet ready to go. Even though D can’t remember me, I remember him with enough love and gratitude for both of us. Love, C
My two cents: The love you share exists. Always.
Ahhh, I remember D, he was a scoundrel, a flirt, a real ladies man. I don’t think that guy could look at you without making you feel like a million bucks. He sure did know how to appreciate a lady. I cut his hair for years, and when his memory started to go, and he started just showing up at random times, I took care of him anyway. I haven’t seen him in years, but I think of him often. He was old school, he look like an old movie star but a little more rugged, with a heart of gold.
He lived about forty minutes away from the salon so in the last year or so that I saw him I was always a little surprised to see him. He always tried to make it down for a haircut. I’m sure he could have gotten his hair cut five minutes from his house, but no; he would always try to make it in to see me. Sometimes he would schedule an appointment and not show up. That always worried me. I didn’t really like him driving that far, it made me nervous that he might lose his way or get into trouble, but then I figured he had his angels with him and if he lost his way they would take over and get him where he needed to be.
Who knows why some people end up without memories of the past? Maybe when you are half in this world and half in another it’s not important to reflect back. Maybe he was ready to go before others were ready to let him go, it’s hard to live without someone who has been such a huge presence in your life. I guess that’s why we have memories while we’re still here, so it’s a little easier to let someone go when it’s their time and we can always have them in our hearts. Love to you D. xo-K
My two cents: True love never dies.