Imagine visiting your mother one afternoon. You enter the room expecting the familiar smile that has greeted you throughout your life. Instead, she looks at you uncertainly.
You move closer.
“Mummy, it is me.”
She studies your face, searching for something that does not immediately come to her.
“Who are you?” she asks.
You smile gently, thinking perhaps she has not heard you clearly.
“It is your daughter, Mummy.”
For a brief moment, you hope she will recognise you. You wait for her expression to soften, for her eyes to brighten with the warmth of familiarity.
But she asks again.
“Who is this person?”
The question strikes you with a force you were not prepared for.
This is the woman who carried you before you could walk, stayed awake when you were ill and worried when you were late returning home. She knew your favourite meal, remembered your school friends and could tell from your voice when something was troubling you.
Now, you are standing before her, holding a lifetime of memories that she may no longer be able to reach.
You want to remind her of everything. You want to tell her about the home you shared, the lessons she taught you and the sacrifices she made to give you a future. You want to call her attention to the little details that once connected you so effortlessly.
Instead, you take her hand.
“It is me, Mummy. I have come to see you.”
She looks at you again, perhaps reassured by your voice, perhaps comforted by the warmth of your hand. You sit beside her and begin talking about something simple.
A few minutes later, the question returns.
“Who are you?”
This time, you feel the tears gathering behind your eyes. You turn your face away briefly, gather yourself and answer with the gentleness she deserves.
You begin to understand that this visit is no longer about whether she remembers you. It is about ensuring that, even in her confusion, she does not feel frightened or alone.
You cannot force recognition to return. You cannot reason someone out of the effects of an illness they did not choose. But you can offer reassurance, patience and a familiar presence.
And so, you stay.
Because the woman before you is still your mother, even when she can no longer remember that you are her child.