Sweet moments I want to remember. I record them here so that I won’t forget. I want these memories to cherish, long after my parents have passed on. 

Nights are often hard for my mother, but unless she’s had a nightmare, mornings are entirely different. This morning I went into their room after hearing them rustling around and my father closing the bathroom door. It’s dark but there’s a nightlight shining a dim path to the bed. Mom hears me enter and says, “Good morning!” Sweet and cheerful. 

She’s all tucked in and doesn’t want to get out of bed, because she’s warm and snuggly under their soft, thick comforter. She asks if there is anything we have scheduled for today. I say, my face somber, that there is one very important thing that she must do today. She looks very serious and you can tell she’s wondering what it is. Then I say the name of her favorite pastries that I had delivered that morning. As I start to say it, she knows, and we both exclaim it at the same time, “Malasadas!” She lights up like the biggest, brightest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen and squeals! My heart explodes. I need to record her one day. I need to know that years from now, I can watch that moment again and again.

She’s become more childlike more often as the disease progresses. Sometimes a sweet little kid and sometimes the tired, frustrated kid throwing a temper tantrum, like when I make her drink water but she wants her Diet Pepsi. Do not fuck with her Diet Pepsi!

We clap and cheer a lot nowadays. When she finishes taking her pills. At the happy ending of a Hallmark movie. Any accomplishment, any wonderful moment is met with cheers and clapping. I want to look back at the end of our time together, knowing that we made the most of those moments and that we made many of those moments.

J.H.