My grandmother Lola Magdalena has lived a full life. She kept a farm running, raised goats, raised children, and taught more than a few grandchildren how to do things with their hands. So when we visited her on her 86th birthday, I wasn’t prepared for what dementia had taken.
I can’t imagine how fast it happened because when we visited her early this year, she was still able to recognize us, although she seemed to stare blankly ahead for a moment. When I tried to recall what her usual self was like and compare it with how she seemed to have forgotten a part of who she is or the life she has lived through, I tried to hold back my tears and simply embraced her, whispered in her ear, “I love you, Lola,” and looked at her face as it brightened up with a smile.
Engaging her in conversation seemed to lift her spirits, and recollection of old memories invigorated her so much that she felt confident enough to laugh through them. For a moment, it felt like I was with the grandmother I grew up knowing. When I asked her what she does when she wakes up and cannot recall anything, she told me in confidence that she prays The Lord’s Prayer and recited it to me in the King James Version. She said that she is okay with forgetting everything as long as the Lord won’t forget her.
That stayed with me long after I got home. I thought about all the things we do in our youth and strength, and whether any of it will matter in the end. And then I thought: maybe that’s the wrong question. Maybe the point isn’t to be remembered by the world, but to do things that matter to those who come after us.
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