Rian is not afraid of dementia, in itself. I have walked often amongst the ill and infirm, the mildly petulant and the childishly baffled.
It is the helpless and the frightened who make Rian ache. The elderly mothers wandering teal nursing home halls searching for long grown toddlers, or the vague eyed octegenarians, head down on the cafeteria tables, silent in horrified confusion.
Rian' mother's mother lives in a Spanish style home in the Ojai valley. Beneath the desert heat she walks on cool tile floors, sorrounded by a once precious collection of Japanese art.
She lives with a caretaker, a dog, a cat and three guinea pigs.
She no longer knows Rian, but she smiled while I fed her lunch and laughed whilst Rian and Aidan performed an abridged version of Pirate Lord and Blankie Hunter atop the giant boulders in her backyard.
She is happy. Rian is grateful.

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