MY FATHER Always wore a Saint Christopher Medal, Patron Saint of Travel. I told him tonight Saint Christopher Would be with him on his next journey. His face was blank, eyes wide with visions of the other side. Alzheimer’s robs one of almost everything, Not just memory, Which we are half composed of. A beautiful life of faith and love Like moon dust, swept away. Bruises cover my Father’s body, a sore every Few inches, a discolored bandage, Thin skin, touches leave bruises everywhere. He cannot move. Tin Man. 8 years of forgetting More and more: The struggle to simply swallow. This disintegration, This long intersection Of life and death Is Hell.