The Living Dead

I have a grandson who is into zombies.  He knows all about them and often relates "information" about zombie behavior.  He knows it is fiction, but for some reason he and many others find the zombie world fascinating.  I do not.

To me the world of the living dead is the nursing home.  Today Mother insisted that she was dead.  No amount of logic or reason could convince her that she was alive.  "Did the undertaker make my face look good?" she asked.  What could I say?  "Yes, you look lovely."  She was satisfied that she looked good, but she still instisted that she was dead.  And perhaps she is right.  She and the other residents are living a kind of half life.  They are not physically dead, but like zombies they roam the halls with their ravaged minds and bodies.  It is twilight living.  Neither here nor in the beyond.  They live, but they are dead to the world.

World and local events mean nothing.  People come and go, but often who those people are depends on the momentary workings of the dementia mind.  Today I was daughter, mother and grandmother to Mother at various points of the visit.  Her world shifts and sways and her confusion grows.  Zombie? No, but part of the living dead - sometimes.  But there is no need for violence or horror either.  Only hugs and kisses, singing and praying, photos and remembrances can restore life. 

Did the undertaker do a good job on her face?  It mattered to Mother today, and just knowing that she was lovely to me was all it took to make her just a bit more alive.