On Sunday
evening, I decided to spend a couple of quality hours with my mother, so I took
a couple of packets of origami to her and suggested that we fold some together.
My mother was delighted and asked me if I knew how to fold balloons (fuusen)
and cranes (tsuru). “But of course! You taught me when I was little!” We
chatted, folded, and reminisced. I made sure to select a different colour sheet
for each folded project. Here is the result:
Last night during
my nightly visit to my mother at her care residence, I noticed that the tsuru
and fuusen were gone from her little table. During our chat, she
recounted: “I folded some tsuru and fuusen today, and I took them
to the dining hall and placed them on the table.”
“Oh?” I
replied. “You folded those by yourself?”
“Yes” she
replied quite matter-of-factly. “Do you know how to fold tsuru and fuusen?”
I was
slightly hurt that she had forgotten our shared time together so soon, but I
replied “Yes, maybe we can fold some together one day… but tell me about what
happened when you took those origami foldings to the dining hall, mama.”
“Well, I
went back and they had disappeared!”
“Oh?” I
worried my mother’s feelings might be hurt at the thought of someone cleaning
up the origami and tossing them.
She continued: “Someone
must really like them because they picked them up. Not many people know how to
fold origami, you know.” She looked slightly amused, a bit proud.
“Ah, then
you need to fold more!” I encouraged her. Maybe if you fold more and give
them directly to the staff and residents, you can make friends and they can get
to know you better.
She nodded
and grinned. “Maybe.”
The
following day (today), as I stood by the copier scanning files at the office, my
mind began to wander. I thought to myself that in all likelihood, a custodian
at the care residence picked up those carefully folded origami and disposed of
them with the trash, like anything else that was cluttering the dining table.
Without a care in the world about what those tsuru and fuusen
held in them as a memory. As my memory with my mother. Tossed away just
as carelessly as Alzheimer’s disease does with every victim’s memories, one by
one.
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