Memory lane

“Don’t you remember?”

Grandma does not need to reply. I can see it on her face and read it in her eyes, this mix of disbelief and sadness. She genuinely does not remember. This is not new, or uncommon. It just seems to happen more and more frequently lately. She denied it at first, she swore her memory was as good as ever. She even went as far as to claim that I was making things up or simply imagining things. But with time, she has accepted that she simply does not remember as much as she used to. Old age. 

I sigh. A soft sigh though, so she cannot hear. I do not want her to think I am disappointed. But she heard me. Her memory may be declining, but her hearing is as sharp as ever.

“No need to sigh you know.” There is no anger or annoyance in her voice. “I know what you are thinking but it is not that bad.”

“But it was not even that long ago and you don’t remember!” I almost cry out. 

Her turn to sigh now.

“True, I don’t remember. But we’ve been through that, it’s alright, really. You can tell me about it, can’t you? Actually, do tell me, maybe it will jog my memory.”

I cannot help smiling. That is what I like most about Grandma. She is always willing to listen and remember the good times. She wants to be able to share these memories with me. And so she listens as I tell her about our latest adventure from last week. Adventure is a big word, obviously there is not that much we can do, but I try and make everything a bit more interesting than it actually is. To brighten her day. She listens attentively, asking questions here and there, wanting a detail and sometimes outright protesting (“Surely I did not say that!”). She follows my story closely and I appreciate the effort she is making to be there with me.

When I finally stop talking, she smiles as I drink a glass of water. I like telling her our stories, but it makes me thirsty to speak so much. I have to do most of the talking when we meet as she keeps forgetting. So I have to keep reminding her. 

“That was quite an adventure we had.” She says in her soft singing voice.

“It really was, you loved it. I can’t believe you don’t remember”, I add, bitterness in my voice. I know I should not, I know it is not her fault. But sometimes I cannot help the resentment from showing just a crack. 

“Ah you know, at my age, we forget things” she replies evenly. “But it’s ok,” she adds quickly, “You remember everything, and you can always remind me. This way, it’s like I am living it twice!”

She gives me a large smile as she says those last words. I think about it for a moment. She forgets things and events but then she can experience them a second time through me… Poor consolation in my opinion but she is trying so hard to be enthusiastic about it that I pretend I am convinced too. 

“Almost like having a time machine!”

We sit in silence for a while after that. I do not quite know what to say now. It can be difficult trying to have a long conversation with someone whose memory is failing. Most of the time, it is me doing the talking. Not that mind, I love telling her stories of course. But it makes me incredibly sad when she has forgotten one of our shared memories. I always try to find things to say to keep her memory active but it is not always easy. Right now for example, I am at a loss. So I look around the room in the hope of finding a new topic of conversation. 

My eyes rest on the cat. It is a beautiful black cat that I see almost every time I come here. I do not even know whose cat it is, he just seems to come with the building. Right now he is effortlessly moving between the tables, occasionally purring and letting a visitor bend to caress him, more often than not simply moving a foot away and looking at them with disdain. Feeling my eyes on him, he looks at me and makes a lazy meowing sound before coming to my direction. He circles several times around my legs before jumping on my lap. A few more circles to find a comfortable position and finally he settles down and starts purring. We know each other well.

I stroke the cat absent-mindedly, still looking for something to say, when another memory comes up. She has to remember that one.  

“Do you remember that time you took me to the zoo, when they had just received a black panther and I absolutely wanted to go and see her?

I look at her tentatively, willing her to react. I see a flick of surprise in Grandma’s eyes, followed by a spark of joy. She remembers. I want to sigh with relief this time. 

“As it happens, I do remember that day!” She beams. We have a memory in common again. Grandma seems just as excited as me, maybe eager to prove that she has not forgotten anything about that day.

“You must have been what, nine or ten years old, top. I had to keep running after you all afternoon, you were so excited!”

“And you bought me candy floss,” I add, laughing. “Mum and Dad never wanted to buy me candy floss, no matter how many times I asked, but you did.”

“Ah I know I should not have, but that was our little secret, wasn’t it? And anyway, you hated it! Oh I know,” she adds quickly before I can interrupt her. “You pretended to like it but I know you were actually disappointed. Don’t deny it.”

“I thought it would taste better, I agree… but I was so happy!”

We fall into a reverie of sort. Not the awkward silence of before, when I do not know what else to say. This is a comfortable silence, the kind of silence where you are just happy in each other’s company. We are walking along together, far away and a long time ago towards the panther’s enclosure.

I like spending time with Grandma. I wish I could see her more often. I go visit her once a week, every Thursday afternoon. Always in this plain white room, sparsely decorated with the kind of  neutral paintings that do not offend anyone but also do not particularly please anyone either. There are a few plants as well, to try to bring a bit of life and joy for the residents. It is not the most exciting or pleasant room, but it could be worse I guess. We are not alone in the room. There are other people visiting their relatives or friends but I do not pay them any attention. And the cat is there, of course, still purring on my lap.

These moments never last long enough though. At some point, as always, someone comes in and gently tells me it is time to say goodbye. I usually try to protest a bit but I know this is how it is. And Grandma always says we will see each other again next week. And we always do. 

Right on cue, a nurse comes in and makes her way to our table. She is one of the nice ones, a brunette with a vanilla perfume that always makes me think of holidays in the sun.

“It’s going to be time to say goodbye… Did you have a good time Lisa?” she adds looking at my Grandma.

“We had a really good time, thank you! Walking down memory lane together, didn’t we?” she smiles at me. She stands up and I reluctantly follow suit. She hugs me closely. “Thank you for this afternoon darling.”

“I’ll come again next week Grandma”, I say, wanting to reassure her, so that the week goes by quickly.

“Oh I know you will. This I somehow always remember”. She winks at me.

She slowly leaves the room and I find myself alone. The nurse gently taps my shoulder. 

“Shall we go now?”

I nod. Not that I have much choice anyway. I follow the nurse back through the corridors towards my bedroom, suddenly not in the mood to talk anymore. 

Back in my room, I lay on the bed and let my mind wander. I must have dozed off because when I wake up, my mind is buzzing with thoughts. Grandma and I have just been for a long walk by the riverside, picking up daffodils on the way. We even saw on a deer cross the field and vanish into the forest.  

I cannot wait to ask Grandma if she remembers. If she does not, I will tell her all about it.