Get the police in here

Posted: September 5, 2013 in Uncategorized
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She was always very bright, however eccentric. Now she searches for names, places, reasons for the way things are. The fog began to gather over the top of her brain slowly until she hardly knew who she was anymore. And she is afraid, always afraid.

For now, some faces are still recognizable, like mine. Relieved to have a familiar coordinate in the room, she almost runs to me. Thank God you’re here.

The paranoia first crept in like something burning in the oven. It was fear that fueled it, a persistent, pointed fear that all was not well. As we sat talking she insisted that we should call the police. Something is happening here, a conspiracy, starting here or over there. No, it is not safe.

But there are reaches of memory that abide untouched. In the middle of the unexplained diabolical plot I challenge her to say the words and she does, closing her eyes and mouthing them with me:

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …”

“Our Father, who art in heaven …”

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound …”

All of those words sit on a shelf in a row of the heart where the sacred things bubble and brew, unforgotten. They gently caulk the gaps and suspend the falling mind like a silky spider web falls across your bare arm on the path. Gently, so gently, the shiny strand caresses the bruised flesh with the faintest sensation: I know that. Then the half smile.

We really should call the police, you know.

Repeat after me: “Amazing grace …”


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