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by Matthew Dexter

My grandfather always slept naked. He made it a family affair, walking from his bedroom to the kitchen to cook eggs and bacon every morning.

“There’s a sausage dangling from my legs,” he would say.

I never knew he had dementia. Until he decided to swallow my dead goldfish because he thought it was a piece of chicken. Mom was preparing the goldfish for a funeral in the backyard. She left Freddy on a plate in the kitchen and Grandpa woke up hungry from one of his naps and the Kentucky Fried Chicken container was still on the table.