So, what now?

I am aimless the day after Burt has left his body and his body has been taken away by the men from the mortuary.

I visit the funeral home to fill out paperwork that will carry him away. Even further. Or carry his body away. I turn spiritual of a sudden. I know his soul, his spirit lingers.

Who he was, that spirit lingers, and I go about gathering all the information it has left in memory.

I do not rely on my memories alone. I turn to the boisterous fan club he has left behind. Burt has a large following.

I get calls or texts or emails that fill me in. His friends, and there are many, share a memory. I get a hug from our mailman who tells me a Burt.

Somewhere pretty late in our journey, probably about the time of his last birthday, Burt said “They’re not my friends. They’re yours.” He was willing to share in their friendship but sure that it belonged only to me.

He didn’t realize that it was he who galvinized my sociability. He spoke to everyone and with the same confidence.

He was welcoming.

7C before she moved away was enthralled by what a confident man he was. A friend called to say how sweet his flirtation had been. I treasured the flirt in Burt. Flirtation came naturally and as part of his generous heart. It was a pleasure to watch him shyly and boldly embrace the world, especially when it was female.

He could be ornery and difficult, or maybe it was just assertive. Dementia takes away so much of your agency that sometimes you just have to put your foot down.

My friends, his friends share the stories of his journey. Some of our friends know him from before but we focus on the past 5 years. Burt had a presence. They tell me of his big personality. My heart warms and heals.