The memories lost forever

Then

I open the kitchen door and grandma looks up from reading her morning newspaper.

“Good morning! I hope I didn’t wake you”, she says. “Was the radio playing too loud?”

“No grandma, I can barely even hear it, don’t worry about it. I woke up because it’s almost noon”, I reply, shaking my head.

“Okay dear, come sit down, let me pour you some coffee. Do you want some porridge?”, she asks while hurriedly putting away the newspaper and fetching my favorite light blue coffee cup. “I also peeled some kiwis for you for your daily fruit. Vitamins are important you know”, she adds.

“Thanks, that would be perfect”, I say, “do you still have some of that extra salted butter to top the oatmeal off?”

“Of course, sweetheart. There you go.”

After finishing the breakfast and washing up, grandma asks if I have time to help her sort out and organize few things. I say sure, as I have nothing else planned for the day. And, because I know how much she loves spending time with me. Besides, she doesn’t really have anyone else. There is no grandpa to speak of and my grandma doesn’t have friends.

We’re sitting in the middle of old books, photos, fabrics, and boxes full of grandma’s memories from her childhood, when she stands up and starts pulling the couch away from the living room wall. She pulls up something rectangular wrapped in an old brown paper, which seems to be a painting of some sort. I watch with curiosity as grandma unwraps it and surely enough, a painting is revealed. A magnificent painting with golden, yellow, green, and brownish colors coming together to create a huge pear tree with the Sun shining through its fruits and leaves.

I reach out to touch it. “Where did you get that?”, I ask, lifting my eyes off the painting.

“This was my mother’s”, grandma answers softly. “You know she managed to keep it through her time in Siberia and take it back with her here.”

“It’s beautiful”, I say. And I feel a bit embarrassed for not knowing what else to say about it.

She nods, looks me in the eyes and says: “It’s yours, Silvia. When you get your own cozy place after your education in the university, you take that painting and hang it up. If you would like to, of course. Consider this as a tiny gift from me to you.”

“I’d love to. Thank you so much!” I hug her tight.

“Now, you want me to make you some more fruit before we continue sorting out some of this mess?”

I smile and nod.

Now

With a heavy heart, a massive lump in my throat, and tears quietly streaming down my cheeks, my mom and I are packing up grandma’s things in her apartment to empty it for an upcoming renovation to rent it out. The bills from the care home at are piling up and we simply can’t afford it anymore without financial help. As we’re sorting out what to keep and what to throw away, we notice that many of the things we expected to find in their designated places are no longer there. In fact, we can’t find certain things anywhere. The place, on the right-hand side of the TV stand where stacks of huge photo albums have always been, is now empty. Other photos of me that used to be in tiny plastic bags that never made it to the albums are also gone. Mom’s custom-made silver ring from when she was a teenager and bits of other jewelry are missing from behind the glass of the living room cupboard. Mom starts looking for three particular paintings that were never framed, but that grandma had always held dear. The paintings have always been stored on the shelves behind the long champagne-colored curtains, explains mom. Yet, they’re not there. With the mention of the paintings, I start moving the couch to search for the pear tree painting. The space behind the couch and the wall is empty.

We turn the whole apartment upside down and inside out, emptying it completely, yet finding none of the things. I just can’t believe it. I feel like it’s a bad dream and I expect to wake up any moment. I keep shaking my head and whispering ‘how?!’. I look at my mom expectantly, hoping she can provide some sort of explanation to this. But I know she can’t. And the realization hits me that we might never see those photos or paintings ever again. Something in me breaks and crumbles to pieces and I feel like I can’t breathe. I need to get out of here, it’s all too much. I think mom understands, because she doesn’t follow me when I put on my shoes, grab my jacket, and leave the apartment to go for a walk.

Afterthought

I am sorry I didn’t know how to help you earlier. I am sorry for not being there for you more when you needed me, or my mom. We didn’t know, and we didn’t know the signs to look for. We didn’t know much about dementia, and we didn’t expect it. You have always been so energetic, punctual, and organized. We should have seen it earlier when small, weird instances started to occur. When you started confusing your bank card to your ID card and had trouble paying for groceries at the store. When your mood started to fluctuate constantly due to you forgetting your diabetes medicine (which we didn’t know at the time). When you started having issues using the radio or making calls on your mobile phone. Looking back, it’s all so clear now. It’s all so damn clear and yet we didn’t know what to make of it back then.

I am sorry we let you down. And I am sorry we can’t afford any better. Knowing you’re alone with no friends or family nearby, and that you could pass away any day with no familiar face to hold your hand and comfort you in your last moment crushes my heart. You deserve so much better, and I wish you wouldn’t have to leave this life alone. I don’t know if you even remember the painting of the pear tree and how you wanted me to have it, or if you even remember your home or the photos we used to look at. I feel such agony knowing you most likely don’t have the memory of it. I wish I could make it all better for you somehow. Most of all, I wish I could be there and let you know that you’re loved and cared about. I hope heaven resembles the yellow pear tree glowing in the sun. I hope you will find peace and know that I love you and appreciate everything you have done for me.

All of it will now forever only exist in my memory. I can never see those photos again. I can never pull them up to revisit the memories of my childhood, or to show my future kids what my childhood was like. I can never share those experiences and memories in such way. They will only live in my brain, and I have never felt more alone. It feels like my whole identity and childhood was just deleted. That one day, these traces of me were swept away, and I can never get them back. No one knows where all these hundreds of photos are now. I believe the pictures of me are probably disintegrating somewhere in a waste yard. This thought cuts. It’s the feeling of helplessness because I have no glue where to look or if they even exist any longer. I will also never understand why you might have thrown all of it away, or what might have happened to all these things. All I can think is that you must have felt so confused and desperate and alone, not recognizing familiar things around you. So you probably decided to get rid of them. Maybe you didn’t recognize me from the photos and just wanted to throw away the pictures of the strangers in the photo albums. I guess I will never know.

I feel like a ghost as I have lost a massive part of me that can never be found. I have nothing to show about my childhood, of be as a baby or of me as a pre-school kid or as a young teenager. I feel (and am) a person with no history to show from ages of zero to around 12 years old. Yet, all I can do is to accept this. Now I have graduated from my master’s program and I am moving out of my college dorm to my new place with a tiny terrace and lots of sunshine, and all that’s missing is the damn painting. I know how much you have always wanted to see me succeed and do well in school. I hope you’re proud of me.