Then I think of today & I put myself into my mother's place & I try to think, what does she really remember? What is her time frame? I ask her questions just to check in with her & to see which of her stories are consistent. Which stories are true, which ones is she making up? Does she even know the difference? But all in all, does it really matter?
All we really have in life is love & memories... sometimes it's just love, sometimes it's just memories. I am lucky enough to have both right now. But I know my mother is fortunate enough to have love & lucky enough to be able to make up the rest from her bits & pieces of her memories.