That murder* was in our backyard, in the middle of an ordinary day, as my father watched through the window, enchanted by the flurry and feeding of the birds. It was noisy, full of avian chatter, and swiftly over, as the birds took wing and departed.
“What kinds of birds are those?” my father, Papa, asked my daughter, Amanda, who was his caretaker. Papa is blind in one eye and has severely limited vision in his other eye, but the main obstacle to his seeing clearly is in his mind. He has been a victim of Alzheimer’s for over a decade now, and this murder, of mind and memory, is neither loud nor quick, taking years to accomplish its silent destruction.
Papa and Amanda had an unhurried conversation, quietly discussing the differences between crows, ravens, and blackbirds, not coming to any conclusion as to which type of birds were visiting. “Ah,” said Papa, wisely nodding his head, “They must be masquerading as crows.” Then, he sat back, sweetly smiling, already forgetting the birds.
Spending time with my father, who is now living full-time in a locked Memory Care facility, is to take a brief walk through hell, traveling the same doomed path as Orpheus did because of his great love for Eurydice. Papa will never break free of the walls in his mind, and he travels the labyrinth over and over again, a desperate journey for those of us who, because of our great love for him, walk beside him, only able to communicate within his delusions, to affirm his warped perceptions, which are for him, always new, and always met with his smile, a smile which offers a blurred reflection of his trapped soul.
His smile is a dagger to my heart.
I am with my father, but he is not with me. Papa’s bewildering exile from us, from reality, is a bewitchment born of the Father of Lies, whose rot distorts truth. But, one day, Truth Himself will come, wielding a sword which has been forged to strike at the heart of the Liar, and in excising that corruption, He will restore sight to the entire universe. The Lasik surgery He performs will be noisy, heralded by His shout, and swiftly over, completed in the time it takes to speak one Word.
Until then, I long for my father to find rest, to fly away on the wings of a dove,* which is perhaps masquerading as a crow, so Papa will recognize it, and greet it with a smile.
*A group of crows is called a “murder.”
*Psalm 55:6
Awara lives in Georgia with her husband of 35 years and their rescue dog, Gonzo. They have 6 children and 8 grandchildren. Her Papa recognized his crow and flew away in December of 2022. She misses him every day. You can find more of her writing at kosmeomag.com, callapress.com, thewayback2ourselves.com, anunexpectedjournal.com, and coming soon to markinc.org. You can find her at facebook.com/awara.fernandez
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