I was talking to my grandmother this morning, who has Alzheimer's disease. Sometimes she knows who I am and sometimes she doesn't. I just talk and ask her questions and she tells me whatever she feels like telling me. I wasn't sure if she knew who I was today, because she said it was nice outside there, that she had just walked a mile and a half outside, though my Uncle got on the phone and told me they were under a tornado watch.

I mentioned to her that my brother Matt dyed his hair black and she said,

"Oh, does he look like his grandfather?"

I said I didn't know, because my Papa Zeb was always bald when I knew him.

"Did he have black hair?" I asked.

"Black as coal," she said.

And then she said,

"He comes by and visits me sometimes."

Some part of my mind said, oh, she's talking about a man that's been dead for 30 years, but it didn't matter. I knew what she meant.