Today she had no idea who I was, where we were, or what was going on. She didn't remember how old she was or what she'd done in life or whether she had grandkids, or much at all. I had to re-explain to her how she, along with a lot of people at the place where I work, forgets things sometimes, and today she was forgetting more than normal. She started crying and clutching my hand and asking me questions and insisting how she never used to have problems like this.
I'm not going to talk down to someone who's lived so much more than I have, and tell her, "you have memory loss, it's just a part of getting older, you're okay." I held her hand and looked into her eyes and told her honestly that I didn't know how to explain things because I couldn't imagine her frustration and fear and that I was sorry but if she could please trust me, that she would remember more the next morning when she woke up, and feel better. It was heartbreaking.
When we're born as babies, everything in us begins to grow. Our bodies grow bigger and stronger, our minds more experienced and wiser, our hearts stronger and free to love. We grow to be toddlers, children, teenagers, adults. At what point do we start deteriorating? When do we start breaking down and getting weaker? Are our lives, from that point outward, just downhill slopes? Is the rest of time just spent growing smaller and more tired 'till we completely exhaust ourselves and die?
Well, no, I don't think so. Our lives should be measured in more than what's apparent. But how?
A bunch of us went to the beach yesterday. It was beautiful, in spite of gray skies, one of my favorite days of summer. Lauren and I half woke up at numerous times during the night, which is unusual for us.
"Allison!" (I had rolled over to her side).
"Oh, I'm sor-"
"I love you so much!" (Sleepy Lauren embraces me at whatever AM, and doesn't remember it in the morning.)
I'm amazed that some love never, ever stops growing.
posted by Allison Francis @ 12:40 AM
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