A good friend shared that he is losing his memories. He doesn't always recognize those he knows. I sit today with who I am, who I might be. Am I my memories? Am I, yours? Does it matter?
Steve's brother had early-onset Alzheimer's. We visited him a few days before the end. He knew us, shared us with his fellow companions in his place of residence. The place was holy. One woman took my hand and traced patterns in the tiles on the table. Steve and I both felt blessed in the experience, in the time shared with those who may have lost some, or all, memories, but were rich in being able to share much fuller gifts.