Memories fade.
A life’s history is slowly erased
by age and condition,
unresolved disappointments,
frustrations, and dementia.
Mom always asks if we have heard
from her mother.
It is either a cruelty or a blessing
of my mother’s
old age
that she doesn’t remember
her mother’s death, but
becomes upset
when told Grandma died in 1961.
On the other hand
she longs for her mother.
Whether it is for protection,
a comforting voice, or gentle,
reassuring hands that would cradle
her face, it makes no difference.
Perhaps it is enough simply to tell her
that even though her mother can’t be here,
her mom loves her and is proud of her.
There are some things old age cannot drive away.
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