I was in my head, my hood, my music, when a honking car blasted me back to the real world. I looked up to see an old woman standing on top of a manhole, in the middle of the icy street. Her lips were moving, but no words came out. The sun set her snow-white hair on fire. My heart lurched in the cold. I stepped off the sidewalk, walked over, introduced myself and said hello.
She answered, Lysanne.
Our eyes met and I felt her glow.
Cars wove around us, freezing birds cried overhead. Lysanne let me hold her hand and slip my arm around her waist. We crossed the busy street together in slow motion, every step, a first.
Are you lost?
Her lips didn’t move, but I swear I heard a faint whisper, yes.
She pointed to a house behind us, which I hoped was her home. Arm-in-arm, we climbed the steep stairs to the front door, rang the bell and scared a boy, who had no clue who this dazed, old woman was, home alone for the first time. As we started our descent, I told her not to look down.
The frozen wind whipped. I passed my hands over her trembling body, looking for clues, and she let me. Neither of us had a cell so I tried to flag down a car. A panicking woman screeched off when I signalled that we needed help. Why are we so scared of each other? I drew Lysanne closer to my heart.
A stocky man pulled over in a beat-up car, told us his name and gave me the chance to explain. Together, we maneuvered the old woman into the warm den of his front-seat, shared a laugh and called the police. She spoke once, I know dementia, when Nick mentioned the word.
The cops took her back to her senior residence up the street, promising to alert the people in-charge. Nick and I turned to each other, it was time to leave. Our eyes met and it struck me that I loved him and maybe he loved me, too, because neither one of us wanted to say good-bye.
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Special thanks to Karen McRae of Draw and Shoot for the beauty and depth of her work and letting me use her photographs February Flower 3, Flow 2 and Sun Dog (featured pic) for this post.
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GOOD NEWS FLASH: Early this morning, an 85 year-old man was hit by a truck. As I write these words, he is back from the hospital and doing the crossword, across from me in the café. We people are fragile, yes, but oh so much stronger than we know.
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41 Responses to Lost
Wow. Utterly devastatingly beautiful. One question: fact or fiction? Does it matter? No…
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Truth. Except for the names.
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Excellent. Movingly written.
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Here’s the thing about your writing: with most posts, even those of writers I love, I open the link, read a few sentences as a “primer,” and then click away to save it until I’m in the exact right mood for that sort of story.
With your posts, I never, ever look away until I’m finished.
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I don’t want you to look away, Jennie.
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Oh so so gorgeous.
Full of love and tenderness and human frailty and beauty.
Beautiful photo selection too.
Big kisses,
Kath
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Thanks, Kath. You introduced me to the photographer.
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Great stories. Yes indeed, humans are fragile. The older weare lucky to get, the more fragile we become. Freda
Sent from my iPad
>
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I keep reading this over and over, wanting to take in every nuanced word.
Utterly gorgeous, Brenda. I love how vulnerability makes us tender.
x
(Also, I am truly honoured to have my images nestled in these words, thank you.)
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Not only for your images, but thank you for your trust.
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A Mitzvah comes to mind. Well done.
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What a remarkable post, Brenda! Beautifully written, expressed, and presented. The photos are gorgeous and nicely complemented your story. This is a beauty!
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Captivating. Really. Truly.
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so honoured to read these stories. what a gift you have.
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Deep, deep thanks for this, Brenda…and such amazing photos!
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Thank YOU, Dulcy. Your luminous work ‘Victoria’ is surely an influence. To quote myself:
“Dulcinea’s Langfelder’s last show was the outrageously great ‘Victoria’ – a hilarious and uplifting ode to life, death and a woman popping wheelies in a chair. I fell hard for Victoria, and saw it half a dozen times without blinking. Dulcinea and her crack team of creative and technical collaborators have toured the world with it, much to the delight of throbbing hearts everywhere.”
Dearest readers, check out this brilliant artist!
http://www.dulci-langfelder.org/
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So tender…
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Trop beau, Brenda !
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Here’s to being less scared of each other! Beautiful words, Brenda, and beautiful photos, Karen.
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Deeply moving and beautiful post. Thank you!
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Oh, I wanted this to be true. I wanted to know that something at once so achingly awful and lovely could actually happen. You captured it. And somehow those haunting images did, too.
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Wow. Glad you found her, that could have had a much worse ending. I can’t believe she was able to wander away from where she was living
That’s so worrisome. We need to all be better at looking out for each other.
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‘We need to all be better at looking out for each other.’ Bingo. Thanks, Aussa.
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Si fragiles… Si pressés dans la vie que beaucoup d’entre nous sont trop fragiles pour entendre les appels à l’aide silencieux des inconnus que nous côtoyons. «Thinned by modern life». Étirés comme des cordes de boyaux au point de craindre d’éclater si on se laisse le moindrement toucher par la vie d’autrui. C’est un beau texte que celui-ci. La démence, la perte des repères. Merci Brenda!
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Merci pour tes beaux mots, Luc. Ca fait plaisir de te voir ici.
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My grandfather had early stage dementia before he died, and he once got lost going for a walk around his neighborhood. It’s scary and sad to think that our minds may one day work against us, and all we can hope is that if it does, the kindness of others will get us through.
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Sorry to hear about your grandfather. Let’s let the scientists work on the cure for dementia, while we work on the ‘kindness of others.’ Thanks, Jen.
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What a beautiful story! And you are right, why are we so scared of each other? Lysanne reminds me of my late grandmother. She kept escaping from her care home.
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Thanks, Muriel. Feels like we all love someone who has dementia or Alzheimer’s. Shouldn’t it bring us closer together?
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You are right, it should. That said, it is a bit of a taboo, don’t you think? Nobody talks about it.
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You know how to capture a moment. How great that you ran into Lysanne and was able to help her. I love reading about these moments of kindness.
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Thanks, Nadia, it was my pleasure. Good to see you here.
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Has a lingering effect on the mind. Found it inspiring to read. Thanks for sharing
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Lingering is a good word. Thanks and welcome.
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sometime we are lucky to get lost. If anyone one is lost means he is out of every thing, every tension, every responsibility and many more…
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Sounds like a dream. Thanks for writing.
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My heart breaks and beats because I know and understand this fear and this finding.
Having done something very similar myself, while breaking multiple traffic laws, to help a gentleman walking down a busy highway. No one else stopped.
He was 82 he proudly told me and on his way “home.”
I managed to coax him into my car and had called the police. I had an extra coke and bottle of water but he saw the coke and offered to “buy” it from me. I was only worried he was diabetic and that it would mess up his blood sugar, but then again, it was 92 degrees out and I knew assistance was on the way.
He had walked out of his home and walked 17 miles when I found him. How he ended up on the highway was anyone’s guess.
His family was so happy he was home and wanted to “reward” me.
I told them my reward was him being home safe.
I worked with families and people with AD and dementia. I knew the signs and I knew a man of his age walking down that busy highway wasn’t normal.
I wish more people paid attention to our fellow humans. I wish more had compassion.
Thank you for sharing and bringing back a very good memory for me.
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Great story, inspiration for us all.
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Reblogged this on .
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Welcome, Rana! Thanks for the reblog.
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You’re welcome, your writing is absolutely incredible!
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