Little Big Moments: Old What’s-His-Name

Years ago, I had a friend who had reached the age when many people start to lose the names of things. Sometimes, the object would be close at hand, like “windshield” or “coaster,” and I could supply the word when he touched it. There were other times when I could figure out what he meant by the context of our discussion. But some words remained elusive, and he could become frustrated or disgusted with himself.

The hardest times were when he wanted someone’s name — “old what’s-his-name,” he’d say and then try to describe the person’s physical characteristics. There were instances when I could figure it out, but telling me about the bald-headed man with a cane didn’t exactly narrow down the residents of his assisted living facility.

They say growing old isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s also heartbreaking for those of us watching a loved one slip away until they don’t even recognize us.

And yet, there were graces along the way. My friend learned to hold certain things more lightly, like his schedule. I’d call ahead to set up a visit, and upon walking into his room, he’d exclaim, “What a surprise!” He also let go of some grudges he’d carried for decades, like water down the whatchamacallit.

They say that if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Near the end of his life, I visited him to discuss his desires for his funeral arrangements. Due to the topic, I knew exactly what he was referencing, but before I could supply the word “ashes,” he said, “Scatter my … leftovers.”

A silent beat passed between us.

He started to chuckle, and soon we were both howling!

They say memory is a funny thing. These days, I couldn’t tell you whether I ate eggs or oatmeal for breakfast, but upon opening the refrigerator this afternoon and spying the leftovers of last night’s Moroccan chicken, my old friend, though dead for almost a decade, was suddenly alive and sitting before me, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes with the back of his left hand.