In place of the blush of youth, her slack and wrinkled cheeks now bore the sunburn of age. The sharp curves of her body, once arched like a perfectly drawn pencil, had become blunted.
One could see that the years had been harsh on her. Her dulled eyes held a tepid gaze, as if nothing was new anymore. She seemed aware that life had ceased to give, only taking away.
The feeling overwhelmed us. When she spoke, her voice was broken, yet it carried a certain tune, reminiscent of an old melody played on an off-tune harp.
With pauses and varied pacing, she recounted tales of her younger years, of early dreams, places, and people who had come and gone. Loss and gain intertwined in her stories.
Her words were few but profound, as if carefully rehearsed. Some recollections remained unfinished, while others she could only start!
These memories both haunted her, just as they moved us to tears, carrying us along the journey of a woman through nine decades and various locations. Now, in this hospital lobby, moments after being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease by the doctor, she was determined to remember, to savor every little thing, every bit of life she had left. And she wanted us, her listeners, to document every facet of it before it all faded away.
Moved by her story, I unabashedly wrote down the account of my beloved and courageous grandmother, tears streaming down my face.
