Last night, I watched the movie, "The Namesake," which follows the lives of the members of an Indian family who live in America. Toward the end of the movie, there's a scene with the father and young son atop a stone breakfront jutting into the ocean. The father realizes that he has left the camera back in the car and debates whether to go get it. Instead, he leans over to his son and says something to the effect of, "Since we don't have the camera with us, you'll need to take a mental picture of this moment." The young son looks into his father's eyes and innocently asks, "How long will I need to keep this picture in my mind?" The father replies, "Always."
Those mental pictures of times spent with my mom -- some of which are from my childhood and some of which happened as recently as 2001 -- are the ones that I now want and need to bring to the forefront. As I start remembering moments together that were marked by Mom's intense intelligence, sense of humor, and creativity (traits erased by Alzheimer's), I'll be able to truly mourn her passing.
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