It is our memories that keep us alive. It’s the memories of our past that we share with our children and grandchildren. As my parent’s Alzheimer’s progressed, I would bring out the family photo album daily in hope’s that a picture would stir a memory.

As I turned the pages, pointing at a picture, I would ask my mother who this person was. She would stare blankly at the picture and then turn to me and stare blankly at me. Memories lost forever. Alzheimer’s is the cruelest of all diseases, for it robs us of our memories. As we age, it’s our memories that keep us alive. It’s our memories that we share with our children and grandchildren. And, without our memories, what is left?

I use to stare for hours at my parents. What were they thinking? Were they thinking? I use to stare at them wishing I could read their mind, wishing I could understand where they had gone to. Many days I would pray to God to bring them back to me so they could once again, just sit beside me and tell me stories of yesterday.

Did my parents die because they could no longer share their stories? If it is our memories that keep us alive, what is left of life, if we can’t share our memories?