“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.
“Because Grandma begged me not to.”
He reached into the black bag and pulled out the notebook.
Every page contained dates, times, and descriptions of my mother’s frightening episodes.
October 3, 2:16 a.m. — Grandma believed Grandpa was alive.
October 5, 3:08 a.m. — Grandma couldn’t remember her address.
October 7, 1:42 a.m. — Grandma became frightened by her reflection in the hallway mirror.
Then I saw an entry from the previous night.
October 9, 3:17 a.m. — Grandma didn’t recognize me. Said I was a stranger.
My hands trembled.
Daniel explained that he had been using familiar photographs and gentle memory exercises suggested during her medical visits.
Sometimes they helped.
Sometimes they made her cry.
“The black bag contains everything the doctor asked us to bring to her next appointment,” he said.
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at my father’s photograph again.
