Seeing my Grandma from my father’s side smile widely after seeing our faces reminded me how age had softened her usual toughness. While she had been her usual self three years ago—aged 83—I was surprised by how little she remembers now that we have to reintroduce ourselves a few times over, with no guarantee she’ll remember any of it.
What’s fascinating about her forgetfulness is her awareness and acknowledgment of it. I can only guess how disorienting it must be to keep losing the thread, but at the same time, I wonder if forgetting in old age would be a lot better than remembering all the pain you’ve gone through in life. I’d like to think Grandma has made peace with her fading memory, while remaining joyful with the people around her.
Meanwhile, my Grandpa on my mother’s side, who is turning 90 this year, still travels by ship from Cebu to Zamboanga del Norte once a month to visit and maintain Grandma’s tomb, maintain his social ties over rice wine (occasionally he says), and keep himself busy with physical activities such as carpentry and masonry. He reminds me of Moses in the Bible (Deuteronomy 34:7), who remained strong even at 120.
Thinking about old age, I wonder what hobbies I will still keep. Will I ever reach the full age of 90 and even go beyond that? I may still have a long way to go, but I can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were me. What if it were my mother forgetting? I really hope she retains her memory, just like her father does.
I still don’t know if forgetting would be better. But watching Grandma smile without knowing my name, forgetting might not be a problem if you don’t even remember you’ve forgotten.
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