[ WP ] At the age of 93 , you can feel dementia setting in . Times , places , and faces get jumbled . What you did n't expect was the immense rush of power that comes with slipping beyond the fabric of this reality .

He looked down at the ditch from a great distance, but it was still far too close. Five men huddled against the slope below the road, as puffs of dirt marked the bullets' mark. Across a field, the popping roar of a machine gun rose and fall as its gunner swept them ground above them. 
 
 He saw himself curl into the earth as his unit waited for the Germans to tire themselves out. He knew the ache he was feeling in his stomach and exactly where his uniform chaffed against his underarm. This time, he saw the German squad that was filtering into the ditch further up the road. As he and his friends endured the machine gun fire, they did n't look up to see the enemy. He remembered the sickening sound of bullets piercing Quentin's body and how Robert's body limply rolled down the gentle slope. He could still imagine the sharp pain up the bullet the cracked his left arm and the desperate firefight they had had until the rest of the company had moved in. 
 
 This time, he made Quentin look to the left and see them. This time, Robert took out two before they even raised their guns. This time, they celebrated their survival that night with the apple whiskey the French seem to hide away in every nook and cranny. This time, they all came home. 
 
 `` Papa?'' came a voice from far away. `` Papa, it's me Bertie.'' 
 
 Confused he looked around but could n't see anything. `` Who's there?'' he asked wildly. 
 
 He felt more than heard a long pause. `` Hi Papa,'' said the voice more softly. Someone touched his arm. He shivered and drew back from the unexpected contact. 
 
 `` Who are you?'' he asked again. 
 
 `` I'm your daughter, Bertie. I'm here with Lucia. She has something to tell you.'' 
 
 `` Lucia?'' No that could n't be right. `` Lucia?'' 
 
 He saw he was standing on faded linoleum in his kitchen. Peeling wooden cabinets surrounded him and he saw the loose cabinet door that he always said he was going to fix hung slightly ajar. Hmm, maybe now was the time. He reached down to the toolbox next to him and he began unscrewing the hinges. 
 
 `` Hello, my love,'' Lucia said from the door. She wore the blue dress that hung to her hips and curved just the right amount around her chest. Her eyes fluttered as she blushed and shook her head, her bobbed hair bouncing just so slightly. 
 
 `` You look like Jackie Kennedy.'' She laughed. 
 
 `` Maybe if she'd stayed out in the sun too long,'' she said before adding, `` And if she'd been born dirt poor in Barcelona.'' Her voice carried the faintest rolling accent, and he could n't help but put down the screwdriver in his hand, rising to wrap his arms around her. 
 
 `` All things being equal, I think you turned out better.'' 
 
 She laughed again, `` Well, too bad I ended up with you. The President does n't know what he's missing.'' 
 
 He chuckled with her, and kissed her cheek lightly. `` Well, who knows what the future holds?'' 
 
 She rolled her eyes and kissed him back. He forgot about the cabinet door again. 
 
 `` I do n't think this is getting through to him, mom,'' came another voice. 
 
 `` Papa. Papa. Do you remember Lucia? Your granddaughter?'' 
 
 `` Lucia,'' he muttered. He looked around but could n't see her. She had just been there. 
 
 `` Yes, she's right here. She has something tell you.'' He squinted and tried to go back to the kitchen. 
 
 `` Mom, I do n't he's having a good day today. Let's just come back next week.'' The voice cracked and he saw his granddaughter's quivering mouth and wet eyes. 
 
 `` Lucia?'' he asked. 
 
 `` Grandpa?'' she leaned in towards the bed. `` Grandpa, it's me Lucia. We just found I'm having a boy - do you remember?'' 
 
 He nodded emphatically but clenched his jaw. `` A boy?'' he asked in a watery whisper and blinked his rheumy eyes rapidly. `` A boy?'' he smiled weakly. 
 
 Lucia grinned. `` Yeah Grandpa, and we're naming him after you.'' She put her hands on her belly. `` Little Thomas.'' She glanced over at her mother, who reached out to hold her hand. 
 
 Bertie put her other hand on his arm and squeezed, `` He's due in August. We're hoping for August 29,'' the two women exchanged weary smiles, `` but that might be asking too much.'' 
 
 He shook his head. `` NO!'' The hand withdrew from his arm quickly. Thomas was born in October, he knew. The hospital had been a dull white but far too bright. He'd rushed in from the rain and held her hand as she screamed. One, two, three, keep breathing, one, two, three, push. Push. Push. One final moan, then nothing. The silence was nothing like when Bertie had been born. She had wailed and they had held Thomas close as the doctor had stood still and grave. He was so small. 
 
 But no, this time he saw the tiny grasping fingers and heard the crying as Lucia smiled. They huddled together and ran their hands across this face as he squirmed. Tom Jr, he whispered, and Lucia rolled her eyes as the final offering to the argument she had never really tried to win. He kissed them both and imagined what Bertie would think of her new brother. 
 
 He heard her crying and looked up to see her holding his hand. She searched his face slowly as Lucia clasped her hands to her mouth, holding back a sob. He shook his head and stared at them quizzically. Where was Thomas? 
 
 `` Goodbye Papa,'' Bertie whispered. `` We'll be back next week, okay?'' He watched her squeeze his thin hands and he flexed them when she slipped them out his grasp. When did they get so bony? He imagined the strong worn hands he had once known, and smiled to show them off to his family. 
 
 `` Bye, Grandpa. I'll try to make it back in a couple of months.'' Lucia's hand rose slightly as she turned to the door, but then stopped and she drew it back towards her side. `` I love you...'' Yes, Lucia loved him, he knew, so he nodded. She was somewhere nearby, he should go see her. His granddaughter's lips pressed together and she took a breath before fleeing the room. 
 
 `` I love you Papa. See you soon,'' Bertie gave him one last look, and then she too fled. He should bring them back, he thought. He wanted to know more about his great-grandson. He would have his eyes, he decided, and thought about playing with him in the afternoon sun at the park down the street. 
 
 Tom, he would say, it's time to go in. Your mama is waiting for us. And he would turn to see Lucia with crossed arms in the driveway waiting for them. 
 
 He eased back into the bed, suddenly tired. Closing his eyes, he looked down at the ditch again. The machine gun rattled and he saw them hit the dirt and roll away from the German position. No, he thought, do n't get pinned down again.
