Or Autumn on my Mind
I have an autumn story for you.
The last time I saw my mother, Alzheimer’s had more or less taken most of her memories.
Her memories had fallen away one by one, like so many leaves, leaving behind only the bare branches. She would recognize me only briefly, briefly remember my name, then that leaf would fall away too, turning slowly in the air, to land in the drift of leaves already on the ground around her feet.
Most of the time she was simply enchanted to be getting regular visits from a charming stranger. I had a good stack of photographs with me, in part ones I had brought, in part gleaned from her belongings..
I could take them out and say « Have I shown you these ? »
« No, » she would reply, « I’d love to see them. »
We then spent a very happy hour or so going through family pictures. Then, a little while later, I could take them back out.
« Have you seen these ? »
« No. May I ?»
We did this several times a day, each time the photos were new. She remarked each time my wife’s hair was lovely, that our son was a sweet-looking child. We had a marvellous time.
We would go for brief walks. The weather was quite cold, so she was happy to have the young man’s bulky coat, three times too large, but cosy warm. She had eyes only for the garden, the weather, the birds, having no memories left to look back on, though our feet rustled amongst them when we walked.
When she napped, I would draw her portrait. She said she wished her hair was prettier for the pictures.
No, it was not sad. The only sadness I brought, so I pushed those thoughts from my mind – leaves of my own regrets and wishfulness to rake into neat piles and forget. (How easily we become diligent gardeners of our shortcomings and malcontent or careful grocers of our own despair.) We had a luminous time.
Now there are two simple stones on a hillside cemetery in a forest clearing overlooking the ocean. It is a beautiful spot.
In the autumn, there are falling leaves.
