“That girl, that woman became my obsession, my crush, my love from that day forward.  Her name was Cecelia, named after her mother’s mother.  I called her CC and rarely called her Cecelia.  Soon after meeting her, I discovered that she was going to school on the Eastern Shore, at the University of Maryland – Eastern Shore and was studying agriculture.  She was smart, she was beautiful, she was kind, she was everything to me.”  Just then a woman yelled out from the kitchen, “I ain’t dead Archie, and I studied biology, not agriculture.”  As she was speaking, she was walking towards the Farmer, aka Archie’s office.  “I studied biology and would have been a doctor, you know.  Except women were expected to be nurses back in the 50s and 60s, not doctors.  So, I have a degree in biology and another degree in the field of life.  Been a good ride Archie, wouldn’t you say?  Oh, that first night I saw him, he looked like he’d seen a ghost when I walked in.”  “More like an angel,” Archie chimed in.  “Hi, I’m CC, I gather you are letting Archie bare his soul to you about these posters?”  I stood up to properly greet CC, “hi I’m Noel, my wife Rachel and I stopped at your farmstand and well, this has been a very interesting afternoon.  Rachel is upstairs with your grandson, Evan.”  CC smiled and looked me straight in the eyes, “Archie is a great storyteller, Mr. Noel.  Did he tell you about meeting my father after ditching his car?  Did he tell you he was from Pawtucket, Rhode Island?  Did he tell you he stole a bunch of Topps Baseball Card cardboard cut-outs?  He is a fabulous storyteller, I will give him that.”  Archie was looking out the window and seemingly ignoring his wife’s comments.  “Do you mean to tell me that the posters are actually posters, and that his story is all a lie?” I asked looking directly at CC, hoping that wasn’t too insulting.  “Maybe you’d better take a break and join me in the kitchen right quick.”

“My husband has dementia after suffering a traumatic brain injury some 15 years ago.  Archie grew up in Portsmouth, Virginia.  That’s why he doesn’t have a Rhode Island or New England accent.  He got into a car accident with my son’s daughter, our granddaughter on Route 13, that highway you came in on.  A hay truck coming towards him and Sheila jackknifed and struck our pickup truck on the passenger side.  Sheila was killed instantly.  Doctors don’t know how Archie lived.  To work through the immense pain and trauma, the psychiatry staff encouraged him to get a hobby, so he chose collecting baseball cards.  He did go to the library and got books and books out on baseball cards. And he would take photographs of famous baseball players depicted on Topps Baseball Cards. Those posters are just photographs that Evan and I pieced together for him, and gave him as a present on his 75th birthday.  Archie has worked on this farm since high school.  We met and fell in love and got married and took over the farm when my parents were ready to pass it down to us.  Archie is a sweet man, please be gentle with your emotions right now.  He is 100% convinced of this card stealing story and that someone is coming here to arrest him.  Doc says the paranoia goes with the type of dementia he has.”  And with that CC escorted me back to the office and spoke to Archie, “Mr. Noel is quite the fan of your posters Archie, you better keep a close watch or else he might snag one for his beautiful wife.”

Archie looked at me and a tear came to his eye, “you ain’t gonna steal from me are you, son?”  “Archie, no, you were saying about your wife and her schooling.  Please continue.”  When Archie turned around to face the window, I saw Rachel in the doorway.  She mouthed to me, “I heard CC’s story, how sad, can I sit with you?”  I nodded yes and tapped the empty space on the couch next to me.  CC was soon in the doorway with Evan standing in front of her, her arms cradling him.  This was a good family.  This was a strong family.  I was sad to hear of Archie’s situation, his accident, his loss, and his fantasy story but I was determined to let him finish it.  Archie turned around to see a small audience now.  “Well, I just had to find a way to stay on the farm and be near that beautiful CC there.  So, I learned what I could from the best farmer on the Eastern Shore.  I learned how to take care of every inch of his harvest from Winter to Fall, and eventually got pretty good at it.”  CC nodded, “you sure did, we wouldn’t be here without you Arch.”  Archie started up again, “CC’s dad, it turns out, took the baseball card cutouts out of the truck of my car and had them framed for me, as a present you know, for my 25th birthday.  I was shocked to see them again, I sort of was so involved in the farming day to day that I simply forget about those awful baseball cards.”  CC looked at me and nodded as if to say, “say something, he is waiting for you to say something.”  I obliged with “gee that must have been a swell gift, Archie.”  Rachel looked at me and mouthed, “who are you Potsy from Happy Days?”

I sort of learned the cues from CC on when to interject, when to encourage, and how to move the story along.  Archie had this terrific story and was absolutely convinced that he had worked at Topps, he had stolen this set of cardboard mishap cut-outs, that he had ended up someway or somehow on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, and so much more.  When he was just about up to date, meaning the point in his life where his fantasy story had met reality, I asked him, “what do you think the posters are worth, I mean do you want to donate them to charity or maybe anonymously donate them back to Topps?”  CC leaned in and said, “wow, that is a really good man of you.  You really impressed me with that question.”  I shrugged, not really thinking I was doing anyone any good, as I was just playing along at this point.  “Well Noel, what do you think?  What do you think the next step should be?”  Rachel looked at me.  CC and Evan looked at me.  Archie looked at me.  The room was silent.  I walked up to the posters and took a closer look.  Upon hearing the truth of the posters, it became obvious that the work was done by a kid, the kind of uneven collage only a kid would do and a parent or grandparent in this case would absolutely love, regardless of the crooked photos.  They were photos of baseball cards, not the actual baseball cards.  It was clear as day to me standing there, looking at them up close, that someone cut them out and pasted them on a cardboard sheet, fronts and backs, then put a clear plastic sheet over them to protect them.  They were posters that had no monetary value, but value of a different kind.  “My vote is you keep them.  Pass them down to Evan here so he can enjoy them and his kids can enjoy them.  Your father in law trusted you, you didn’t betray his trust, you didn’t drive away. In fact, you did the honorable thing. You worked hard to earn his trust, you worked hard to earn the trust of that beautiful lady (pointing to CC).”  CC was crying, so was Rachel.  Evan left the room and ran up to his room.  I continued, “So, you took the cards, they were going to be trashed anyway, am I right? They made others and Topps stayed in business. So, there that’s settled. I only ask that I be allowed to tell your story, your love story of that beautiful human being, and will promise to keep your address and last name out of the article.  Would that be acceptable, Archie?  In short, I say keep the cards, they are as much as part of you as anything else on this farm.”  

And with that I walked towards Archie, shook his right hand and hugged him with my left.  “Good-bye Noel, yes you have my blessing to write your story.”  I nodded and motioned to Rachel to skedaddle out of the house and to our awaiting daycation.  I hugged CC and gave her my number and my email address.  I asked her if I could send her an advanced copy of the article, for her to proof it for any mistakes, and that I would probably break it down into about 5 parts.  She agreed, I sent her the copy the other day, she approved it, and this is the final part of the story to publish.  

As a child of a parent who is struggling with memory loss, dementia, and anxiety of all sorts, I implore you and yours to be patient with your loved ones.  Dementia is a cruel disease that affects folks that were once doctors, nurses, lawyers and reduces many of them to almost childlike behavior.  Be patient, that is all I ask.  It’s hard but imagine for a second how hard it is for your loved one to express themselves when their brain is not functioning the way it did for their entire lives.  This story is dedicated to my wonderful mother, Joanne Roby, who is battling dementia and paranoia symptoms not unlike the fictional Archie in this story. My mom, who very well could have been a doctor.  Except they didn’t encourage women to be doctors in the 50s and 60s so she became a nurse.  One of the smartest nurses the world has even seen.