You Haven't Forgotten Me?

I open the door and step inside quickly. In the dim, half-light, I see her dark silhouette sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the door. She startles when she sees me; a moment of silence follows. I offer a smile instead of any greeting.

She watches me, still a bit surprised, as if she were seeing a ghost.

"You haven't forgotten me?"

"How could you say that? I think about you all the time. Look, I brought you some vitamins, medicine, collagen... they'll help you feel better. I don't expect miracles, but it's better if you take them."

A radio was playing softly when I walked in, but since we started talking, I haven't heard a thing. It's as if our conversation has taken over the moment.

I take her aged hands in mine. Her head shakes; her eyes are swollen. Her head trembles involuntarily. I'm overwhelmed with pity, and I don't know how to help.

"When did you last take your diabetes medication?"

"I think I ran out, but I found some others. I've been taking less."

I read the leaflet and tell her to take more; they are supplements, and just one isn't enough. I hold her hands and stroke them.

"Let me tell you something else about myself, from back when I was young and beautiful and supposed to get married," she says. "Many boys came looking for me because I was an only child and I had learned dressmaking. They thought I had a dowry, but we were poor, so I kept putting them off. The boys would move on and get married, and my parents - well, if they didn't have money one year, they didn't have it the next, either. My father was ill and couldn't work much, and when they took a wagon of wheat to the city, they got very little for it. In the end, they had to borrow money so I could get married, and my poor mother wove a large rug to pay off the debt. I want to tell you a few things about myself, at least a little bit, the way I remember me now, at ninety, while I still have my memories. I was thinking that if I forget everything, I want you to tell me my story. You know, your life is so beautiful and important; mine doesn't mean anything anymore, all I have left are my memories. Please, if I no longer know who I am, tell me about myself."