My mother lowered her head.
“I don’t remember.”
Those three words changed everything.
Daniel sat down in the hallway, covering his face with his hands.
“Mom,” he said quietly, “Grandma’s been having serious memory problems.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Three weeks ago, she called me at midnight. She said Grandpa was standing in the kitchen, asking her to make breakfast.”
I stared at him.
“She knew Grandpa was dead, but she could see him. She was crying and terrified.”
Daniel explained that he had taken her to a doctor after finding her wandering outside one night, wearing slippers and asking neighbors where her husband had gone.
The doctor had recommended further assessments because her symptoms could indicate a cognitive disorder.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.
“Because Grandma begged me not to.”
He reached into the black bag and pulled out the notebook.
Every page contained dates, times, and descriptions of my mother’s frightening episodes.
