Older people. Alone in the world. Trying to scratch out an existence. Deck stacked against them. Dealing with loss. Failing memory.

Pete, from the story, is dealing with his father who doesn't know him any more and is angry. I spent about four years visiting with my mother as she gradually lost her battle to save her memories. It stretches you beyond your perceived capabilities. It rips your heart out.

I should have done more for Myrna. Maybe I should have taken her to the DMV or helped her navigate the online renewal form. Talking to people like Myrna really seems to be something that I feel drawn todoing.

Here's a quick story. I make no secret that I'm a Democrat. This past fall, Ralph Northam came to Roanoke City the day before the election and had an appearance at the market building. I was there with about 100 other supporters, volunteers, and political celebrities. I really dislike large groups so I was uncomfortably flitting from person to person...then I saw a lady in ragged clothing sitting on a windowsill in the corner of the room. So I went and sat with her. For the next 20 minutes, she regaled me with story after story: How she became homeless, her protest days in the 60's, aliens, #&*^* city officials, etc. I can't say that I remember any of the stories, but I found the whole situation strangely ironic. Here I was sitting in a room with some of the most powerful people in the state, and here was this homeless lady, seemingly invisible to every single one of them. I felt strangely honored to be blessed with sight.