Lost Art of Mystery

It’s so hard to let go of our dreams, our past, our hopes for what was, what could have been and what might be. As I let go of the previous incarnation(s) of myself, I watch my mother letting go of her memories. Initially, simple short term thoughts began to slip away like figments. These episodes have expanded insidiously to include larger portions of memory, until even her own daughter’s names begin to elude her. Yet, she still holds onto certain unresolved memories, like tethers to trauma.

The other day, she asked me to tell her the story of her life so that she could remember it.

I watch her sleep, letting go of the life she had, while I gradually lose touch with my own.