The Colors of Thought
Both my grandmother’s have Alzheimer’s. One doesn’t know her own son, how to dial the phone, or even how to use utensils when she eats. Slowly, throughout the many years she has battled the devastating disease, she has lost all sense of self. My other grandmother died roughly two months ago from a stroke. She too, was gradually loosing her memory. When she came to visit me I would hear the same questions asked in the same manner with the same intonation.
“How was your day today?” my grandmother would ask.
“It was good grandma,” I’d respond, and then proceed to tell her all about my day. However, little did I realize my mistake, for five minutes later I was asked the same question. This happened quite often, and eventually I gave up describing in detail and settled with a simple good.
This year I have lost nine people for various reasons. Even though they cannot tell much-loved stories of their life, I still can. Even though, my grandparents were and are unable to unearth the forgotten, I still can. I still hold the memories that keep them and the stories alive. I believe in the power of memory.
Memory is not just a thing that helps you with daily tasks like schoolwork or to mail a letter. Memory is the colors of thought that connect one life to another. The memories that you gain from people and events are special. Some memories may die or dwindle into nothingness, but no matter what, I will always have an impression of a person. The way they smiled or laughed at a funny joke, or the feeling that I got when I think of them. I have learned to make as many good and long-lasting memories that I can gather with the people around me. To place them in a special safety vault in order to cherish the moments, and to retell these moments with the people around me to keep them fresh and not to forget. I believe in the power of memory.
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