Faded Memories

Mother's memory is becoming a shadow.  She has only lingering glimpses from her past.  Like faded wallpaper slowly peeling away from the sure structure of the wall, her memory is peeling away from the structure of her life.  She can no longer share the memories large or small from her past.  She can only ask questions.

"When I was little, we had popcorn and Pepsi every Sunday evening while we watched TV," I say.

She smiles and sips her Pepsi through the straw because drinking from a can is difficult and says, "Was it good?  Did we like it?  Was it fun?"

I've stopped saying "do you remember."  I just tell her how things were, and she asks questions.  I tell her how much she enjoyed popcorn or old movies or working in her garden.  Sometimes a light of recognition comes on.  Just a faint remembrance - a shadow that flits across her mind.  She will nod, but just that quickly the memory is gone.

I visited a museum once where people walked in front of a light that would capture their shadows.  They could step away and see their shadow lingering on the wall, but very quickly those shadows faded and nothing was left to say that they or their shadows had existed.  Mother has only the shadows of her life left, and those are quickly fading.