Today’s story is that of Peppa who, together with her mother, finds herself fighting against the disease of modern times: Alzheimer.
“You hid the carpet from me. The first phone call arrives at seven in the morning, a firm and worried voice asks me where I have hidden the carpet. I am sleepy, I have not yet realized where I am, if dawn has already pierced the blinds, still down. I like to be awakened by the colors of dawn, which slowly become lighter from dark, even if there is no sea, here in the northern region of Brianza. “
Enjoy your reading. 🙂
No, I haven‘t seen any carpet, but it may be that maybe it’s hidden in a room and you don’t see it. “You stole my carpet.” I feel like I’m living in a nightmare, I would like to tell you I haven’t seen any carpet, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m sleepy.
Let me sleep a little longer, then we’ll talk about it. It’s lunchtime, I try to call her back to understand where it may have ended up, but at noon it seems that the problem no longer exists. And who cares about the carpet.
You come at my house almost daily, you help me do small housework, you understand that between work and home, my time is very limited. But I see you confused, perhaps even a little depressed. It will be the advancing age, the small daily worries that afflict us. She wants to go home, a few blocks away from me. I decide to let you go, and to see at the right distance, if you take the right path.
You do not take it. Yet you have been commuting from me to your house for years.
But that damned afternoon, you don’t take the right path, from a distance I notice that you ask people if they know the street you live on.
An anxiousness assails me, my legs tremble, I would like to be wrong, I am convinced that it’s due to stress.
When we are at your house, we, your daughters, your grandchildren, the people you love, you ask me which ingredients to use to make nougat. Our Sicilian nougat.
“Come on, mom, stop it, what are you doing, are you kidding us, you’ve done it at every party and now, come and ask me whether to put this or that, why don’t you remember? I’m angry, do you know why?”
This means making fun of me… But then you get lost again, strangers bring you home, you, in a slightly confused state.
You go in and out of a state of confusion and that hurts me, that hurts us a lot. Just you who raised my son … no, you can’t get ill.
And then the saddest truth and the final sentence of an Alzheimer’s that resounds like a dagger in the heart.
“Doctor, you are wrong this woman is stressed, please remove this sentence”.
My mother. My life. Lost in a muffled world made of a fog that covers and fades memories.
Ten years have passed and you are here with me, I look at you and I embrace you as you and I always did, mother and daughter together, always. No clinic for you, as you struggle to stay in touch with what you were, but the overwhelming grip of the love of children and grandchildren, which you reciprocate, even after ten years, with your golden silences, with that look of yours sometimes lost but with a smile, yes, identical to then.
Sometimes the memory of when we laughed and talked Sicilian overwhelms me, making fun of the rest of the world, almost as if we could never, ever have touched such a fate. Pain and anger then fade gently, sliding on your smile, in our embraces, keeping intact the thread of love that binds our lives together, forever, safe from any loss, from any oblivion.