It started inching its way into out lives long before we knew its name and long before we knew the crime. Was its role inscribed in some far-off ancestor? Where is he or she? I want to see the face that started it all. I want to stamp on the green earth and scream to the heavens. You stole our memories, and if all we are is a memory, are we slowly drowning, too? Bit by bit, flung into the sea of forgetfulness. Floating between this life and the life to come in some murky darkness.
She can no longer remember her children's names, have a conversation, inquire of the weather or add her opinion...that feisty opinion that charted our childhoods. Floating...where she can't know that she has outlived her oldest grandchild. She can't know the pain we feel when we see her ravaged face and call for mother. She can't feel Christmas joy, summer heat, or autumn's color. We can never live another memory on the porch at dusk. We can never walk the garden or pick the rose. We can never see the wistful smile that bore the weight. Is that it? Was her pain too great to bear into the next world? Is that why it languishes here by her side refusing to let go? Must she divest herself of some token or some secret before she can take leave? Is her job yet undone? Is there more work waiting for the one who did all the work...?
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