Yet I found myself, hugging my knees and weeping quietly - by N.L.

Chosen Topic:

Photographs

3rd Prize - A16

By N.L., an ‘N’ level student-inmate from Institution A4

Human memory. Human memory is a very powerful and beautiful tool. Yet it fails us at times. Dementia, a disorder is which a person is unable to remember things or think clearly. It’s funny how a brilliant tool such as the human memory can either be helpful or useless.

It had been a rather cloudy afternoon that one particular day. A family, about to indulge in a hearty lunch, was bombarded with a devastating news. My favourite Aunty, Regina, was at an advanced stage of dementia. I was confused and in denial. I had many questions swarming around in my head. Would she remember me? Had our beautiful memories been forgotten? I slipped away slowly into the kitchen for the sole purpose of keeping myself composed. Yet I found myself, hugging my knees and weeping quietly.

I regained my composure and quickly dried my tears. The puffy eyes, worried looks and down casted faces were eminent. What else could I do besides providing comfort? As I was cleaning away the pitiful lunch, I couldn’t help but think about our fleeting memories. Hoping for a fluke, I remembered something. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of this earlier,” I asked myself. Photographs. What else can depict the beautiful stages of life besides the wonderful photographs that were captured? That was the first time, after hearing the news, I had a smile on my face.

What matters now is rather how we deal with the news. How are we going to get help for Aunt Regina? What are worries or issues that may arise? Being immanent is a very important factor. Taking care of a dementia patient can be difficult and challenging. However, we were all for the challenge.

The following Saturday morning, I rolled off my bed as soon as my alarm rang and raced to the bathroom to have a warm shower. Before long, there was a disturbance at the door. “Olivia, it would be nice if you left the washroom this second!” my brother yelled. I took it as my cue to quickly rinse over again and dashed out of the bathroom. In a flash, I was out of my front door and jabbing at the lift buttons. So where was I rushing to? My aunt’s house of course! Thankfully, her house is just down the street. Walking a little faster than usual, I was knocking on her front door in a matter of time.

I was afraid that she wouldn’t recognize me but I had faith in the close bond we shared. As soon as the door opened, she rushed forward to hug me. When I walked into the house, being happy that she remembered me, I was taken aback. The usually top-notch house was filled with photographs all over the floor. Scattered would be a more suitable word here. I would say. Noticing the shock on my face, she took the liberty to explain the mess. “As you would have heard, I have dementia, advanced stage. I am more likely to lose my memory in a few more months time. These photographs are my only hope of remembering all the special memories I have experienced.”

With that, we both embraced each other and wept our hearts out. Life still has to go on. I thought to myself as I started looking through the photos. I caught a glimpse of my baby photo. I had no idea that, that picture existed! My aunt simply smiled and kept it away in her album. Soon, we started sorting the pictures and were able to see the white marble tile again. Evening came, the sun had set and it was time for me to leave. I said my goodbyes and left with a heavy heart. Tears were rolling down my cheeks as I walked home on the silent street.

Weeks went by and it was disheartening to see my aunt’s memory slowly fade away. She couldn’t even recognize herself in the monochrome pictures that she kept. Once, she even asked my mother who she was. It drove my mother to tears. Months went by and I was expecting her not to remember me. As expected, she didn’t. I was hurt but I understood her situation. I visited her regardless and kept her company. One day, she asked me out of the blue if I was her good friend. Stunned, I did not know what to answer, that was when she pointed to the photograph hanging on the wall and said, “that’s my friend, my good friend?” I teared up as soon as my eyes laid themselves on the picture. It was a photograph of me and my aunt. I pulled her in my embrace and was thankful that it was returned.

Today, my aunt is longer around but memories of her are etched in my heart and of course, hung up on the wall in beautiful frames and photographs.