She doesn't remember what she had for breakfast. She doesn't remember to take her pills, and when she does remember, she deliberately doesn't. Her attention span runs about 2 minutes.
She doesn't remember that she has dementia or why her son isn't home. She often doesn't remember that her husband has been dead for over a year.
But she remembers how he loved her. She remembers him putting his arms around her the first time he showed her how to play golf. She remembers nights spent bowling and all of his trophies. She remembers how they fought and made up.
She remembers every time she ever called him a son-of-a-bitch and how he never was. She remembers all the things she put him through and how wonderful he was. She tells my partner that she is already taken, forever.
She remembers when he first got sick and how long it took.
Then she remembers that he is gone and she cries.
After more than one hug after a moderate drive to St. Farther, I leave her in the care of her daughter and neurologist.
And for the ride back, I sit in the back of rig humming this song.
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