Does Your Mom Remember You?

Mom is coming through the front door with her arms full of boxes of fat red strawberries. The children are jubilant. “They had a sale at Albertsons,” Mom explains.

When we come from New Jersey, she likes to get us all our favorite foods. She also hates to waste food or money, so I have to make sure we eat everything she bought special for us. This time, there is no difficulty. We wash, core, and consume a flat of strawberries in minutes.

“I can’t believe how fast y’all eat up all those strawberries,” Mom exclaims. She gets out her purse and heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Back to Albertsons. I want to see how many strawberries y’all can eat.”

When Mom returns with a second flat of strawberries, the children and I enthusiastically polish these off as well.

Mom wordlessly drives off the Albertson’s to get a third flat. This one is only half eaten when our interest peters out, and we are done.

When people hear that my mom suffers from end-stage Alzheimer’s dementia, they often ask, “Does she remember who you are?” I don’t think so. I think she likes me and trusts me, but the category of thought which contains the concept of mother and daughter has simply vanished.

But I remember who she is.