“Here we go, down the road!” Marie* sang, tapping her walker on the ground as she moved down the hallway. Her son, a man in his 50s, walked beside her.
Marie loves to walk. She’s always on the move, and when her son visits, which is often, he walks with her.
“Hi Marie,” I smiled, approaching the two. “We’re having a guest come and sing for us. Do you two want to come sit down?”
“My husband knows how to sing,” Marie said, motioning to her son.
Her son shrugged and smiled, letting her comment go. As she walked past me, I turned to him. “Does she usually think that you’re your dad?” I asked, when she was out of earshot.
“No, not always,” he said. "She knows that we’re related, somehow,“ he said, with a faint smile. "That’s what’s important.”
