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Things Forgotten

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I wonder where she is when she sits with that stare, her eyes locked on something over my shoulder, seemingly mesmerized by what is happening in some far off realm.  It’s as if her mind lives in some other place.

During the day, when no one is home, Grandma sits on the couch petting Maggie, my aunt and uncle’s dog. She knows Maggie by name, but when mom comes by to check on her, Grandma won’t know her name or whom she is.

She’s ready for bed by 7, and as I pull back the sheets for her, I look at the pictures over the bed: her and Grandpa at their son's wedding, or the picture of Mom when she was a little girl. I know she doesn't know who any of them are, but I want to know what she thinks about all the pictures. I ask about the one of her and Grandpa, but she doesn't know him. "Probably an old boyfriend. He’s cute," she says. As I tuck her in and close the door to her downstairs bedroom, I chuckle to myself at her answer.

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