When my mother began to lose her memory, she laughed about it. “Sometimes I feel like my brain is made of Swiss cheese,” she’d say, “and I keep putting my keys in one of the holes.”
“When will Mommy come, Grandma?” my granddaughter used to ask several times a day when she was little. At first, I assumed she missed her mother. I’m sure that was true some of the time, but usually she didn’t seem sad.