Where Memory Lies

My mother’s mind was clear until her very last breath. She held onto reality with a fierce grip, even when her body faltered. Though she often massaged the past to make it a more palatable story, her tales of her youth in India, the city of her birth she loved so much, and the parents she regretted leaving behind when she travelled to the other side of the world to begin her new life as a wife and mother, needed no embellishment. She never forgot her past.

My mother’s last breath escaped her body four years ago, and still, I marvel at how her mind remained sharp even when arthritis crippled her limbs.

This morning, I awoke with thoughts of memory, life, and remembering swirling in my mind. An image of a dear friend, whose mind is slowly fading though her body remains strong, drifted in and out as the muse wove her way through my thoughts. It is her struggle, and the pain of her family and all those who are struggling in similar circumstances, that inspired this poem.

Where Memory Lies
by Louise Gallagher

I smile and listen to your story
nod my head in all the right places.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard it
I know when to laugh and gasp
and act as if you’ve never told me this one before.

You ask where your husband is
and even though I know you will forget 
when I remind you he died years ago,
I tell you he’s gone fishing
and you clap your hands and giggle
in that little girl way you have
that made him smile and call you, “My girl!”
and you say, “He loves fishing!”
even though he never owned a reel.

To save myself from witnessing your grief
washing over you again and again
I do not tell the truth.
Truth hurts too much.

There is no happy ending in the grief 
of witnessing time’s relentless quest
to erase the past
from a mind that never forgot
birthdays, anniversaries, names and faces.

There is only this space where each day
becomes a new beginning
of a story unravelling
the tapestry of your life.

You tell me the story of how you met
the man you married
I listen and laugh
and when you forget his name
I quietly remind you
again and again
but do not tell you where he’s gone
and when you ask who I am,
I do not tell you, I am your daughter.

Truth hurts too much.

.