Shadow boxing on Kahekili

The man in black--black baseball cap, black Raiders sweatshirt, black pants, black running shoes--usually runs down the other side of Kahekili from us, stopping occasionally to use the guard rail as his gym equipment. Other days he runs on our side up past the cemetery entrance, boxing with the flexible bollards. Thwack thwack go the bollards. 

 

Daniel, for that is his name, is one of the very few people who remember mine, but not Lilith's. It's because his father had a girlfriend named Susan. I said she must have been born in the 1950s or 60s, before the name died out, and he nodded. We talked a bit about the cemetery, the cut trees, the cut employees, the cut community.

 

I asked him what he does when he's not out exercising. "I'm my dad's caretaker," he says. His father is 80 and has Alzheimer's. Daniel is his sole caregiver. It's hard when they don't recognize you. But he's a healthy man! 

 

I tell him about my dementia books. He says how good it is to talk to other people who've had similar experiences. I take some pictures of him, his lined face, his big smile. He heads off to the district park, past the blue couch that was dumped there the other day. Lilith and I walk toward the cemetery, heading for the ritual grooming by O and H. Lilith is training the new guy to pet her, too.

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