Gramma

The pair went into the kitchen to prepare their dinner. To her grandmother's surprise, the cupboards were filled with food.

With a slightly irked expression, she asked Anna, "You told me you were coming, didn't you?"

Unable to lie to her gramma, she answered honestly, "Yes. But it could've slipped anyone's mind, so don't feel bad about forgetting. Anyway, it's nice that you've got so much in for our dinner."

Her grandmother smiled at her kind, comforting words but quickly disregarded them. "Thank you, I know your heart is in the right place, but I don't need comforting. It's better for me if you tell me when I've forgotten something. I need to know how bad my memory is getting."

"Yes, you're right. I'm sorry, Gramma; I didn't have the heart to tell you. You looked so happy because of the surprise. But now I feel worse, so it won't happen again."

Sighing, her grandmother went over to her and puller her in for a hug. "You shouldn't feel bad; it's this old body's fault for falling apart so slowly. Sometimes, I think it would be better if the process was quicker or even instantaneous, but then I wouldn't be able to enjoy these visits from you."

After feeling down about her dementia, her grandmother quickly picked herself up for the sake of her granddaughter.

Of course, Anna wasn't a moron; she knew what her gramma was thinking. This was how it had been for the past year or so. Each worrying about the other and not wanting the other to worry about them.

However, with everything, there comes a point where one needs to share their true thoughts, and her grandmother seemed to have reached that point.

…

They quickly prepared a meal. They'd been cooking together since Anna was a young child, so they were like a well-oiled machine in the kitchen. Dementia could take away recent memories, but years of cooperation and love wasn't something easily forgotten.

As they at their dinner, her grandmother lamented her condition.

"I understand that there's nothing I can do about it, but it's so infuriating, not being able to trust your memory. Sometimes, I'll be absolutely confident that I have remembered everything I need to, but then someone will tell me that I've forgotten something.

"Not being able to trust your memory, not being able to trust yourself, it's exhausting. The more it happens, the more it grinds me down.

"Did you know that people used to praise me for my memory? As a kid, I'd enter local memory competitions; I even won a few. At school, and even after I grew up, I was given the nickname 'Scroll'; people said I was like a scribe recording everything on a scroll, hence the nickname.

"You know I don't want you to worry, but I needed to vent. To go from that to this useless thing, it'll wear down anyone's fortitude."

Anna was shocked but her grandmother's outburst.

'Gramma has never said anything like this before; she's always tried to keep me in the dark. Her condition must have gotten worse recently.'