Love, Grandma.
I read the letter three times.
Then I remembered something.
Two months earlier, my mother had forgotten my birthday.
I had been angry.
I’d told her, “Mom, you’re getting careless. You used to remember everything.”
She had apologized repeatedly.
I hadn’t realized how frightened she already was.
“Why was she screaming tonight?” I asked Daniel.
Daniel handed it to me
Inside was a letter written in my mother’s familiar handwriting, dated several weeks earlier.
My dear Daniel,
Please don’t tell Margaret until I’m ready. I know something is happening to my memory. Yesterday, I forgot my own daughter’s birthday. I saw the hurt in her eyes, and I couldn’t bear it.
