Bill has the last laugh

Let it be known: Bill had a great last laugh …… even if it was at my expense. My brother Bill died on August 13^th from a fall, or a stroke, or both, but several weeks before that, he let out a carefree, unrestrained, straight from the soul laugh that did him and all of us good.

Brother George and Geri and Martha and I went over to visit Bill at the assisted living home where he had been since dementia and physical problems began taking priority in Bill’s life. The staff told us that they had just reworked the courtyard patio, so we went outside and took our place on a patio chair. We began talking old times with Bill. Even as the dementia progressed, Bill held on to facts and figures and memories of the past better than any of the rest of us. Want to know when some relative died, or when their birthday was? You’re best bet to get the right answer was to ask Bill.  Have a question about school or a vacation experience from 50 or 60 years ago? Ask Bill.

 

Still, the dementia was relentless, gnawing away at the realities of the present, making Bill’s smiles fewer and further between. There was a somber, far away look in Bill’s eyes that summer evening as we sat with him on the patio.

 

That’s when I happened to glance down at my pants. There on my lap was a big white bird splotch! I quickly went into feigned catastrophe mode: “I’ve been hit!” “Some bird has got me!” “Quick, a napkin, a Kleenex, a towel!” My trusty partners sprang into motion looking for something to dab up the bird poop. Bill tuned in and began to smile.

But it wasn’t done. Just as I reached for the scavenged Kleenex, another plop! This time, the bird dew landed on my shirt sleeve!

This is too much for Bill. Whatever dark cloud had been hovering over his consciousness quickly lifted. Bill let out a genuine happy, “Ha!!!” It was the Bill of old present among us. It was a real treat! Pretty funny that it took a dive bomber bird to break through the evil spell upon him. What a joy it was to see.

Now that Bill has transitioned to God’s place, where there is no such thing as dementia, I keep thinking about those bird splotches and Bill’s last laugh. It doesn’t take much pondering of the story of Jesus and the promises of scripture to get God’s picture. Like a splotch on my pants, God’s love and promises land on me, not to be ignored. And as I realize I’ve been hit, I can’t help but chuckle, and I can’t keep from looking up and hearing Bill’s “Ha!”