The Tip of the Tongue

The other night I had a dream. I woke up in the morning, knowing that I had a dream but I couldn't remember exactly what it was. I felt really bothered because the memory of it was right there, sitting at the back of my mind; I had a slight feeling that I knew what it about. But try as I might, I couldn't pull that memory to the forefront. I could not remember what I had dreamt. It was such a strange feeling- to have the sense that I knew what my dream was about, but unable to retrieve that memory.

The thought hit me: I wonder if this is how my mom feels?

Does she hear background noise, words in conversations around her, and have the sense that she knows what is being said but is unable to retrieve that memory and make sense of the words? Does she see the faces of her loved ones, and know that she knows them, yet she can't quite place them or figure it out? Do the words come to her, at the tip of her tongue, but she just can't spit it out? What a frustrating feeling it is, to feel the sense that there is something you should know, but unable to pinpoint it.

I imagine this is mom's whole world now. Each day, more and more of the things she once knew are pushed to a place where she can longer retrieve the memory of it.