Kathleen Bourque

My mother stood at the edge of dementia, a wide and terrifying river.  She turned around, glancing back at me with her blue eyes sparkling, her arms outstretched. And then she waded in. I could not reach her in time to keep her safely on shore.

In the early stages, there were days of clarity when Maman would lift her face to the sun, wave in recognition to those of us she’d left on shore, beckoning us to join her. But it was not long before swift currents ensnared her, taking her farther and farther away. Her emotions and memories swirled menacingly as time and place no longer anchored her. She would cry out, “What is happening to me?”