An Alzheimer’s patient I visited today had no idea it was her 94th birthday or who had sent the flowers and balloons decorating her room. A photo on her dresser showed a younger version of herself laughing and sitting on a gentleman’s lap. When I asked if the man in the picture was her husband, she didn’t know. Nor did she remember that she’d graduated from an Ivy League college, although she said something about a closet there and then trailed off in the middle of a sentence.

A Frank Sinatra CD sat near a boom box and her photos.

“I love Frank Sinatra,” I said.

“I love Frank Sinatra, too,” she said.

“Why don’t we let Frank help us celebrate your birthday?” I offered.

She nodded, and I popped the CD into the boom box. Old Blue Eyes belted out “That’s Life,” and I stooped down in front of her wheelchair and took her hand.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

She smiled and swayed from side to side with the music, filling me with gratitude for the reminder that there is always something that connects each of us to another. https.www.jangroft.com