Meanwhile at the VA Dementia Ward

Bingo and Battlefields

Things have been rather stable. My guy is about the same, still accepting his situation in a noble, dignified, stoic fashion. Can’t feed himself, can hardly move his hands, though they are doing a bit more physical therapy lately.

There was a lovely Christmas concert by his church where he sang along with remarkable gusto. I sat between him and my Jewish vet buddy, with a hand on each of their arms.

Like me, I suspect, my Jewish vet buddy has complex feelings about those lovely songs. I sang along with the ones I knew.

One day at bingo I was watching all the vets, hunkered over their bingo cards, just silently waiting for the numbers to fall.

I had a vision of them in foxholes, waiting for artillery shells to rain down, just praying that their number was not called.

In both scenes, the common thread is waiting, without any ability to affect the outcome. Leave it to me to conflate a bingo game with a battlefield, but that’s what came to me.

In the curved semi-tunnel hallways, the half circle windows sometimes achieve an effect where windows from one side project their perfect sunlit images below the dark windows opposite. Yin and yang, I suppose. Like bingo and battlefield.