He began to write before his diagnosis…sometimes he wrote…sometimes he drew.

He didn’t need a doctor to tell him…something he already knew.


He would close his eyes for a moment and search back in his mind…then write a story or draw a picture of any memory he might find.


His children sat him down one day and said they had something they wanted to discuss… “These memories you’re writing down,” they asked, “all these books…are you writing them for us?”


“Because we don’t need all these books to remember the wonderful life we’ve had…we don’t need these books to remember you…as a kind and gentle dad.”


“No children.” Their father smiled, “the reason I am writing…the reason my bookshelves are so crammed…is to help me remember, when I begin to forget, the person who I am.”


This disease will be taking away who I am…that’s what dementia does…so I’m hoping I can use these books…to help me remember who I was.”


I know who I was and I know who I am right now…that’s easy for me to see…but it’s scary because when my memory is gone…I’m not sure who I will be.”


“That’s why I’ve written down some memories…and other memories I drew…so in the midst of the darkness that is coming…some light will come shining through.”


“It’s funny I started writing these as a present to myself for when my mind’s adrift…but being able to write down a lifetime of memories has turned out to be a gift.”


And Dad was right there came a time when his whole life, to him, became a blur…when even during our visits…he didn’t remember who we were.


So we’d take out his books of memories…his writings and the pictures that he drew…with the hope that somewhere in his darkness…some light would come shining through.


And as we sat and read him his memories…not very often but once in a while

a light would find its way to Dad…and for a moment…he would smile.

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