Unheard Words

You Don't Remember Me

I'm your girl. You were the first one to ever see me, the first one to ever hold me and you made sure everyone knew. You were very proud of that, and I was happy to hear it.

 Maybe you were a little, okay totally, biased and for some reason we all knew I was your favorite. I don't know why, maybe it was because I was "your girl".

 I got you plants, and you told me about them every time we talked. How they were still sitting on your windowsill, how you were taking good care of them.

 You made sure every time I came over you had two things, sour cream and onion chips and coke. We would always go to Burger King but you've always been hard of hearing. So I had to correct you when you ordered a "Burger King" instead of a whopper and when they asked "do you want any sauce with that?" I was the one yelling back the answer from the passenger seat. 

You took me shopping because you knew I loved to go, and because you couldn't leave me home alone. Probably because you knew my mom wouldn't take me but you wanted to spoil me. And you did.

I got toys from the dollar store, and whatever candy I wanted from the grocery store. Any food I wanted; we ate a lot of mac and cheese. 

Every morning I would eat Special-K with either bananas, or that sweet-in-low in the pink packet that I have now come to learn is some of the worst stuff you can put in your body. You ate so much of it. 

You smoked. You were actually a chain smoker, before the band made that word knowledgeable to more people. You always had a cigarette going, and maybe that's why I hate them so much now. I loved your smell, but as my dad pointed out all it was, was nicotine. 

You crocheted. You crocheted some really amazing things, blankets, clothes, hats. The list goes on and you always seemed to be doing it. It was amazing and you made me want to learn. I wish you could teach me, I wonder if you even remember how to do that.

The T.V was always on, and it was always super loud and instead of making me hard of hearing maybe that's what made my ears so sensitive. But you let me watch whatever I wanted in the living room while you watched whatever it was in the kitchen; smoking or crocheting. 

You loved when I played the piano despite me only knowing the one song you taught me but every time I got another simple tune down you would listen, you would sit with me, and you'd play with me. I wonder if you really knew to play the piano, I never thought to ask.

I let a lot of time slip away. You called a lot to know when the next time I was coming over was and I always had an excuse. I don't know why, maybe it came with growing up but I had "better things to do". Looking back, nothing was better. I came every now and again. I played in the backyard or with the neighbors. We played rummy, and penny enny. The first game I was taught was how to gamble and my mom always joked about how we had a little underground ring going on. It was mostly just you and me and we played with pennies and I never got to keep them. 

We put together so many puzzles. Every time we went to the store we picked up a new one, and every time we would put it together. We ran out of puzzles to put together, we put together the same one so many times. Every time we lost another piece and almost every time I found it again.

You were getting sicker, and hurt a lot more often and I never thought anything of it. It comes with old age, she must be clumsy. And then you went to PT and it happened again. I don't know how long it took but you ended up in rehab, and they sent you to another place. I don't know if it's hospice, but I think it's hospice. 

I visit sometimes. It's hard because you don't talk anymore. You normally are sleeping when I come in and it takes a lot to wake you up. It's kind of comforting to know that you have always been like that. That one thing hasn't changed. 

We talk to you, you just look between the three of us. You don't even talk to mom. You forgot that you asked her to do this for you, so you're just mad at her. It hurts her, it kills her on the inside. She takes it out on us sometimes, I can't say I blame her, I can't say it's fair. You only ever say hello, or you love us too. You sometimes kiss us back on the cheek when we kiss you. But these are few and far between occurrences.

Mom called once, I was visiting my sister in New York and you were lucid. You were talking, and you were asking how we were. I hadn't talked to you in a long time, and now I didn't know what to say.  

You don't remember me. Maybe you know who I am in some deep part of your mind that you can say you know me. But you don't remember me. Not the shopping, or watching T.V. Maybe not even that I'm your girl. You don't wanna hear my stories like you did, you don't ask when I'm going to be there next. You don't tell me about the plants in the windowsill. We don't play cards anymore. Or put together puzzles. 

A lot of people take time for granted, and then it hits them. Mostly the death, and it hurts because you're never going to get that time back. But what I don't think people know, is how much it hurts to have you still here, just to have it so you don't remember me. It tears me apart to look at you, and see you and have all these memories but to get a blank expression back. To get a slight recognition, but not to hear your voice anymore. 

I miss you, and you don't even remember me.