They went every summer,
Hiking along the shoreline,
Hand in hand,
exploring.
She was an artist,
Who once did a painting of the rounded rocks and grey driftwood they found.
She called it Sticks and Stones,
An enduring testament to their love.
Laura is taking care of Connie, now,
As her memory fades with Alzheimer's,
She reminds her of them walking together along that long ago shore,
A time, though she may have forgotten,
She captured forever in the soul of that painting.
Their love for each other,
And her ability as an artist,
Lets those memories live on,
Forever.

One day…not much is there.
Mom's eyes are dim with memory faded,
Words come hard and the spirit is flagging.
Then, it is as if a song begins,
And through the deep recesses of forgetfulness,
There emerges a kind of light,
Renewed energy and a plan.
Conversation begins. Words once forgotten form.
She smiles as she remembers how to speak.
“Let’s do this,” she says, and we do,
As she takes in her surroundings,
Observing and assimilating,
Talking and asking questions,
Almost like in the past.
Close enough, anyway.
And I am happy for her.
We sit and chat like before.
Memories rekindle. Today is recognized,
And tomorrow becomes a very really possibility.
I saw her mind dance today,
In perfect step and time and rhythm with itself.
It was as if she was sixteen again,
Jitterbug dancing in her parents basement,
Getting ready for a dance contest.
My fingers tapped in time,
Humming along with her as we talked,
And the music played on and on.