Overheard in a Retirement Community Dining Room

Some moments lodge deep inside one's heart. That happened to me today, as I ate lunch with my parents at a retirement community they wanted to check out.

We ate lunch with the director of sales and marketing in the community's dining room. A few tables away sat a family, two young adults, a middle-aged man and woman,  and an elderly woman with flyaway white hair.  As I ate my Caesar salad, I could not help but overhear. Their voices were loud, perhaps because the older woman had limited hearing.

"Have you been here before?" the old woman asked the man. 

"Yes,  I come here every day," he answered.

"Why do you do that? " she asked.

"To visit with you," he said.

"I'm sorry, I did not know that."

"That's OK," he answered. 

What is left of us once our memory fades?

What is left once we no longer can recall the moments that string one, after another, when we no longer can count the beads of dew that build our days?

Why does a son visit his mother, every single day, even though she forgets the visit as soon as he walks out of the room?

I realized that when nearly all of us is gone, love and grace remain. And I remembered this prayer.

Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty,

my memory, my understanding,

and my entire will,

All I have and call my own.

You have given all to me.

To you, Lord, I return it.

Everything is yours; do with it what you will.

Give me only your love and your grace,

that is enough for me.

St. Ignatius of Loyola