Why are you so ugly?

It was an unusual day. I was mostly gone today. My childhood best friend's dad passed away and today was the funeral. I left the house at 6:45 am and didn't get back until 5pm at which time an amazing friend delivered an entire dinner to our family. Wow. Such a blessing. I'm truly humbled by this gesture which was incredibly well-timed.

This funeral brought me back to my childhood church. I literally haven't been there for 28 years - since one of my friends got married there. Wow. It hasn't really changed at all and was so beautiful. The funeral was lovely and yet the family was more broken up than most I've seen for someone who was nearly 85 years old. He was truly a well-loved man. And when I commented to my friend's mom about how well she cared for her husband for the past several years (he had fairly severe stroke-related issues) she simply said: "I'd love to do it all again."

Wow. Again, SO humbled. Why can't I be more willing and less whiny? I'm truly built of different stuff.

But what I love about going to funerals is that you get to hear great stories and meet great people. You get a sense of a person's entire life - what they left behind and how well they lived and were loved. It's a beautiful thing, bookended by sadness.

I remember my friend's dad as being nearly impossibly picky - that no matter what, she couldn't please him. It always made me appreciate my own Dad who was generally fun and upbeat and who I adored being around. My friend also adored her Dad and her Mom and cried when she moved out of their house. I may have turned and waved on my way out. Different worlds.

Along with reconnecting with old friends, I also met my friend's Aunt Ellen. She asked who I was and how I knew the deceased. I explained that I was "Annie's" best friend growing up. She wasn't really sure who "Annie" was but pointed at the casket and said: "That's my brother." "I'm so sorry," I said, and she told me that he was the youngest boy of 12 children.

She seemed interesting, this Aunt Ellen. So I continued to ask about where she grew up and other facts about her family. Then she asked me again who I was. I quickly realized this familiar pattern. Aunt Ellen had some form of dementia. OK, I've got this.

Aunt Ellen: "Who are you?"
Me: "I'm Annie's friend."
Aunt Ellen: "Who's Annie?"
Me: "She's Tony's middle daughter."
Aunt Ellen: "Oh, OK."
*Moments pass and she taps me on the arm*
Aunt Ellen: "Why are you so ugly?"
Me: "Um, I don't know, why?" (I truly thought there was a punchline.)
Aunt Ellen: "Did you hear me?"
Me: "Yes, and I have no idea why you said that."
*She looks away with a smile*

Later, Aunt Ellen was making the rounds during the post-funeral luncheon. She walked up to me with a gleam in her eye, tapped me on the arm: "Why are you wearing men's pants?" she asked. "Because I like them?," I responded.

So there you have it. Dementia comes to find me, 90 miles away from home. The funny thing was (besides Aunt Ellen's questions), I had no problem interacting with her. A few years ago, I probably would have blushed and made a big deal out of this. Now? No big deal.