Each year bits of knowledge leaked from her mind. Drip by drip, she forgot first where she set down her keys or her cup of coffee. Next it was the pan on the stove unnoticed by all but the smoke detector. Then, the way to the post office where she had a box for near thirty years. Finally it was her son’s name and eventually her own.
But she never forgot him, for he was her first and best love.
In the last days she sometimes would pat her leg and call to him, “Buddy, come here buddy boy. Buddy…”
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