I entered the room and found my 89-year-old granddad, who had Alzheimer’s, gently touching the rug’s flowers and murmuring to himself. Curiously, I inquired who he was speaking to. He replied, ‘I’m talking to my mother, Tala.’ Tala was the name of his stepmother. Then he continued, during breakfast, Tala served us tea with salt instead of sugar, but we didn’t dare to inform our father, fearing his wrath as he had punished us with the belt in the past for even minor protests. As tears welled up in my granddad’s eyes, I was taken aback and asked, ‘Man, how come you can recall something so bitter from 80 years ago but struggle to remember us?’
Sometimes, there are certain scars that are never healed or forgotten, even by Alzheimer’s.
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