Peace behind enemy lines

I don’t remember how old I was, but when I was a little kid, I had asked my mother where she got my middle name from. She told me that she once knew a man who was always kind towards her, and she always admired his kindness. As a kid, I didn’t ask much more, probably because I went outside to play. But I always kept that moment in the back of my head.

The years went by, and my mother passed away at a young age, it wasn’t until I was in my 40’s when I realized who she had been talking about. I had met him on a few other occasions, but never put two and two together. He had popped in once when I was a kid, once in my twenties, and then again in my forties. I was able to piece together the stories and how he was connected to my history.

Sadly, he was recently admitted to a home for people with dementia, where his family visits him often. I’m told that dementia has caused him lots of memory loss, frustration and anger. I know this would have broke my mom’s heart because she had nothing but nice things to say about him.

This painting is of him, in a home, playing his guitar where he is able to find a little peace.