Dear beloved little granny,
yesterday, like every Tuesday during our visit, when we said we had to leave, you asked me in a small voice if I could not always stay with you and help you.
It breaks my heart, the way you make odd mistakes in your choice of words and grammar, because the language part of your brain that has been working tirelessly for 90 years cannot keep up with the overwhelming strength of your wish to express what you feel. It breaks my heart, the consistency with which you ask if I can stay, although you forget everything else that happens within minutes or even seconds;
but your helplessness has caught up with you anyway.
What a cruel thing, to know, even if subconsciously, that you do not know a lot anymore. To remember that a lot of what you do is forget. To not understand why, but to feel you need help.
I wish I could do more for you, hold onto you and your memories and your deeply kind personality, but in a way, I am as helpless as you are.
Yours forever, Judith