October 3, 2:16 a.m. — Grandma believed Grandpa was alive.
October 5, 3:08 a.m. — Grandma couldn’t remember her address.
October 7, 1:42 a.m. — Grandma became frightened by her reflection in the hallway mirror.
Then I saw an entry from the previous night.
October 9, 3:17 a.m. — Grandma didn’t recognize me. Said I was a stranger.
My hands trembled.
Daniel explained that he had been using familiar photographs and gentle memory exercises suggested during her medical visits.
Sometimes they helped.
Sometimes they made her cry.
“The black bag contains everything the doctor asked us to bring to her next appointment,” he said.
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at my father’s photograph again.
“Robert was such a handsome man,” she whispered.
Then she looked up at me.
“Are you his sister?”
I felt something inside me collapse.
“I’m your daughter, Mom.”
She smiled politely.
“Oh, that’s lovely.”
I turned away so she wouldn’t see me cry.
