He looked back at me. I nodded. He wasn’t botching this, for once.
“What I really want to do is something meaningful, something that matches your personality. A ceremony that helps people feel like they have experienced something real about you.”
The man with one visible eye had it open wide now.
“All of you have lived long lives, and I’m sure there are many people who love you. I know it would help them to have an opportunity to remember you when your time comes. So, if any of you would like help with your final arrangements, I’m willing to assist you in any way I can. That’s why I’m here today.”
I exhaled and looked around the room. Dad hadn’t saidanything stupid. In fact, he had kind of nailed it. But the crowd might as well have been a still photograph. Finally, the one-eyed man adjusted his glasses and raised his hand.
“I have a question,” he said.
Dad looked him in the eye and nodded. The man’s face constricted in anger suddenly, as if some switch on his back had been flipped.
“Why can’t you see that it’s completely useless?” he yelled.
The room filled with institutional silence.
“I’m sorry,” said my father. “What exactly?”
The man looked at him incredulously.
“The salad bar. It’s useless. A waste of space. Why do we have to pay for that when nobody wants it here?”
A dark-haired attendant quickly came over and put her hand on the man’s shoulder. She smiled.
“Okay, Mr. Cole,” she said. “We all know your opinion on the salad bar by now.”
“Dad...” I said.
“The real problem is,” the woman with the fluffy hair chimed in, “is that my daughter is supposed to pick me up in an hour. But she’s not going to know which room I’m in. Who can help me withthat?”
I walked over to the attendant, a Latina woman with her hair tied back in a tight ponytail.
“What are they so upset about?” I said.
My dad stood next to me.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “It’s not you. Most of these people are from the Memory Care unit. They have their good days and bad days.”
“Memory care,” I said. “As in...”
“Alzheimer’s. Other forms of dementia. Many of these patients have a high level of impairment.”
A few more people in the back had their hands up now. My dad looked at them.
“Why are they at my talk?” he asked.
“It’s good to get them out of their rooms. They don’t have a lot of outside interaction.”
I stepped off to the side, wondering how quickly we could leave.
Then I saw the woman.
I’m not sure if she had been in the room before, or if she had just arrived during the Q&A. She had a bright white Betty Page haircut and a lip-sticky smile. It looked like she had gone directly from age nineteen into old age without anything in between. She was motioning me to the back row. When I reached her, she touched my wrist.
“I enjoyed the speech,” she said. “My name is Mamie Lee.”
I looked down at her. Her soft brown eyes darted back and forth.
