Chapter 27 - mom forgot my birthday and i almost asked her to prove she still knew me
Mom was eighty when she forgot my birthday.
Not the first date she had forgotten.
The first one that hurt me personally.
I came to Harbor Grove with Mason and Lily.
Cake.
Rebecca.
Mom looked delighted.
Then confused.
“What’s all this?”
Mason laughed.
“Dad’s ancient.”
Mom stared.
Then her face changed.
“Oh.”
She looked at me.
“David.”
“It’s okay.”
Lie.
She knew.
I knew she knew.
The celebration continued.
Mom sang.
Ate cake.
Made fun of my gray hair.
Later, alone in her apartment, I started asking questions.
Not intentionally.
“Remember my thirtieth?”
She looked at me.
“Some.”
“The dinner at Rebecca’s?”
“Maybe.”
“What about when Dad—”
Mom’s face hardened.
“Stop.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Quizzing me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She was right.
One forgotten birthday had turned me into an examiner.
Can you prove I’m still in there?
Can you prove I still matter?
Can you prove Chloe did not eventually become right?
Mom looked tired.
“My memory is worse.”
We both knew.
Her diagnosis had progressed to early dementia the year before.
Slow.
Still capable of many decisions.
Still herself.
Also changing.
She continued.
“If I forget your birthday, you are allowed to be sad.”
That made my eyes fill.
“I don’t want to be.”
“Too bad.”
She smiled.
“Feelings.”
Then:
“But do not make me perform old memories so you can feel safer.”
I covered my face.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know who you are.”
My chest tightened.
Mom noticed.
“And someday I may not.”
There.
The sentence we had avoided.
“No.”
“David.”
“No.”
She reached for my hand.
“That will hurt.”
“Yes.”
“It will not mean I stopped loving you on purpose.”
I cried.
Mom waited.
No reassurance beyond what she could honestly give.
Then she smiled.
“You were an awful baby.”
I laughed through tears.
“You remember that?”
“For now.”
“What did I do?”
“Never slept.”
Rebecca later claimed this was exaggerated.
Mom insisted history belonged to the mother.
We argued.
Normal.
The birthday became one of the saddest good days of my life.
Because I finally understood another form of choice.
Mom could not choose what memory stayed.
But she could still choose how she wanted us to respond when one disappeared.
No tests.
No shame.
No announcement:
You’re forgetting again.
Support.
Information.
Grief when necessary.
May you like
And respect for the person still present.
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