It was a quiet Monday afternoon when it happened the first time. I was sitting in one of Mum and Dad's chairs - the big, squishy ones that feel soft as marshmallows and smell of expensive leather - when Nana started crying. I looked over, absolutely bewildered as to why the tears had come on during the ad break on The Bold and Beautiful. Behind me I heard Mum come in, her footsteps making a slapping sound on the tiled floor. I vaguely noticed that she wasnt wearing shoes. Her hair was in the same birds nest style that it always was - 'a crazy woman's breakfast' she'd told us when we were younger - and her clothes were stained slightly from gardening earlier.
'What's wrong, Mum?' she asked as I watched on, absentmindedly reaching for the box of tissues on the table beside me.
'You've forgotten.' sobbed Nana.
'Forgotten what?' Mum asked, shifting her weight from one leg to another.
'It's my fiftieth birthday and you've forgotten.'
Mum and I exchanged glances. It most certainly was not her birthday, let alone her fiftieth. We spent the next hour trying to persuade her that it wasnt today. Hysterics ensued and eventually we gave in after much guilt tripping on her behalf, and whipped her up a chocolate cake a few hours later.
The second time it happened was on the 24th of March, two weeks and four days later. And then a month after that, and the most recent was just yesterday, when Mum took it up a notch and invited all of the neighbours around to throw her a surprise party. I don't quite understand, but then again I suppose that's what happens when you get old. My brother says that your brains go to mush and you only remember certain things. I suppose he's right - Nana forgot who he was this morning.