I had the pleasure of visiting with a woman in her eighties. We were at a reception, enjoying cookies and a warm drink. I asked about her sister, and her eyes darted away while she pretended to spill her tea. Clearly I had made her uncomfortable.
Later a friend within earshot discreetly explained that the elderly woman has early dementia, and is embarrassed about it. Probably she could not remember her own sister's name, or where she lived. My heart throbbed for her, yet I felt no blame. Words are slippery things, and take fiendish delight in escaping right as we open our mouths. Even those of us with no diagnosis, and original parts misplace things that matter.
When my own mother lay prone in the last days of breathing air, a doctor asked her questions of great importance.
"Who is the president?"
Long pause. "Ford?"
"What month is it?" Still longer pause. I looked out the window at the colorful trees, to avoid catching her in ambivalence.
"April?" Her voice was quiet.
"Can you count backwards from ten?" This was an obstacle too high. My mother's sense of failure was heavy.
Looking back, I am comforted by the irony of it all. Those questions, or rather their answers were as inconsequential as the number of birds that happen to be flying overhead on this autumn morning. The urgency of a correct
answer is as much of an illusion as any worry I might have that those geese might lose their way.
I have an inkling that the elderly woman who could not recall her sister's name knew something of greater import. That she loved her.
"No more shall
every man teach his neighbor, and every man his brother, saying 'Know the Lord,' for they shall all know Me, from the least of them to the greatest of them, says the Lord. For I will forgive their iniquity, and their sin I will remember no more". Jeremiah 31
While some things are worth remembering, others are just as well forgotten.
Love, Lori
