Monday, August 13, 2012

The Write Promise



Last week’s blog touched on Alzheimer’s disease.  I forgot to post it!  I lost track of the days during a relaxing timeout−boating with my husband.

Here is last week’s post; not lost−only forgotten...

They are there one minute and gone the next.  The right words – the perfect superlatives –vanished somewhere between my brain and the keyboard.  It’s frustrating. 

All of us worry about losing our memory; at least most of the people I know.  Have you ever drawn a blank in mid-sentence?   It’s happened to me, too. Where was I, I’ll say.  Sorry, I lost my train of thought. Squinty-eyed, I strain to remember. 

Am I right that everyone reading this has rushed into a room to get something, and then stood there wondering what it is?

We apologize for forgetting names and details.  We swear we have no knowledge of something only to remember later that, indeed, we had been told.

It goes with the territory.  A middle-aged malady.  Even though it is annoying to forget names and places and details, it could be far worse.  A child made me realize how much worse.

A few days ago, my five year old granddaughter cuddled in my lap.  Her long legs dangled.  For a fleeting moment melancholy threatened.  One day she would be too big to curl up for an all-embracing snuggle. 

This day, like many others, we shared thoughts during our quiet time together.  Sophie talked about visiting her great-grandmother at the nursing home.  Sophie calls it Daycare since the two facilities are housed in the same building.

She confided that her Oma doesn’t remember her anymore.  My little granddaughter stared out the window as she spoke.  She doesn’t know who I am, she said in a sad voice.     

Sophie turned to face me.  Adapting a solemn expression, she lowered her chin and looked up into my eyes. “Someday, Nana, you are going to be in Daycare with Oma.  I will visit you.” She spoke in the authoritative voice of someone who knows. 

Her gaze returned to the birds preening on the branches outside the window. “Nana,” she continued in a quiet tone, “will you remember me?”  I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat.   “Promise you’ll remember me.”  Her whispery voice pleaded for reassurance.

I pressed a kiss into her silky hair and hugged her slender body close.  “Promise, Nana?”

6 comments:

  1. Very poignant Phyllis.xo lynn

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    1. Thanks for commenting Lynn. It was a tough one to write.

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  2. Now you have tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat.

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    1. Talking (and listening) to a young child can be a humbling experience.

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  3. I as well have a tear in my eye reading your latest blog. Well written..

    Stacy

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    1. Impossible to avoid emotion when dealing with the fears of a small child.

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