It is a snowy day in April
The three of us each sit at our own windows and watch the remainder of our winters,
She says it came out of nowhere.
She means the snow maybe, or the Dementia.
The warmth of the conversation
Flows over me;
They laugh together, a mother and daughter in the face of everything
Becoming nothing.
We have images and slides and
Dissections
And proteins named and tangles found,
But really, who can know a disease?
She knows her mother
And her mother knows herself and she tells me of her dog named Lily
And her music and news and books
And that sometimes she forgets that she forgets.
She has a home and love and a care companion named Maddie
And a PhD in clinical psychology.
She treated the mind
Now how her mind treats her…
Where did you grow up?
Her daughter answers for her because the answer is too far in the past
Too far to catch so her daughter
Holds it gently, fluttering in her palms:
East Coast, they say together.
I am watching the snow land on solemn petals.
They laugh again,
At life and at their own closeness,
A side effect.
I cannot help but think of my grandmother
Who can’t remember words or where she is
Or who I am
Sometimes.
She doesn’t smile.
My own mother, her daughter, is holding her life together
With photo albums and old letters
And trips to the doctor’s office.
Then they are pulling me back from the cold
With their spring voices
And I feel they are just content to be
Together.
Image credit: “Memories” (CC BY-SA 2.0) by kickize
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Contributing Writer
University of Michigan Medical School
Anna is a member of the class of 2024 at the University of Michigan Medical School. She graduated from University of Michigan in 2019 with a degree in French Language and Literature. In her free time, Anna enjoys cooking, exploring nature, and taking care of her plants.