She sheds memories
like dandruff
and as we brush
away the flakes of her,
she loses us.
She squints through
vast blankness with
vague intensity,
“Who are you?”
Her life drifts
in and out
on images as tenuous
as imagination.
Thus, mother transforms
into a mesh of
our memories of her,
even as her memories
drift into fog.
.
.
.
.
I see sweet ladies at the Extended Care unit, who are lost to themselves. So sad for them and their children. I’m thankful that my parents both hold tightly to their memories.
