Wake of Echoes

A few of Mom's labels My mom has Alzheimer's disease and we're losing her too quickly.  What began as basic forgetfulness has changed too quickly over the years since her diagnosis. We enjoy moments of clarity with Mom, but other times she doesn't know our names or our faces. She can no longer hold a pencil, cook a meal or read a book. We know that time will soon gobble up what is left of her memories. It is a heartbreaking thing to experience, as many of you know. But long before Mom began to lose her memory, she started labeling things in her house. She wrote dates on the back of photos, saved letters and drawings from her kids and grandkids with Post-It notes on the back: "love this!" or "Drew, age 3." She kept report cards and concert programs, circling our names, commenting on what we sang or what our teachers said about us. She kept a Thanksgiving journal: how big the turkey was and how much she paid for it, what the weather was like, wh...

I’m turning a corner, ducking under low beams, rummaging through a thrift shop by myself, when suddenly, I’m not alone. She is not really here, but I smell her scent on the air as if she has just come to lay her hand on my shoulder.  Bluegrass Perfume.  It’s too rare to be worn by another shopper.  If you ask for it at the Elizabeth Arden counter, they may have one bottle, tucked away in the back of a cabinet.  Besides, when I turn in a full circle, I confirm what I already knew.  I am alone. It’s been fifteen years since we lost her.  My sisters and I called her Nana and she was ours and ours alone.  We had no cousins to share her with – my mother’s only brother died in infancy – but we shared her with everyone.  Our friends, our dates – eventually our husbands – all felt welcome at Nana’s house, where the living room was cooled by the constant buzz of oscillating fans, the pristine kitchen smelled of Wrigley’s Double Mint and the pink ...