"Post-It" by Brendan Thomas “I’m cold, can you fetch me a sweater?” Barbara called up to her daughter, Susan.
Susan entered her mother’s tidy bedroom. No sweater was in sight. “Where is it?” she said. “Maybe the corner closet.” Susan opened the closet doors and was immediately confused. The inside doors were covered in post its, almost a hundred to Susan’s eye. She recognized her mother’s hand. At school she’d copied it on excuse notes and school letters home, and knew the individual loops and squiggles better than her own. Puzzled she picked a few off. My name is Barbara. I live at 5 Croyden Lane. My husband was Sam. He died last year. I have two children. My son's name is Ron. He is an Accountant. My cat’s name is Tiger. I was born in 1942. My sister’s name is Rita. Thoughts rushed through Susan’s mind but she couldn’t catch them. She heard her mother’s footsteps. Susan grabbed the sweater, rocking back and forth, weeping quietly. Barbara looked at the closet door in silence. “Mum. What’s happening?” Barbara looked into her daughter’s eyes. “My life is disappearing. My memories, experiences, my abilities are leaving me. I’m confused Susan. Some days I don’t know who I am or where I’ve been and it frightens me.” Susan embraced her mother, refusing to let go. She ran her fingers slowly through her hair, stroked her cheek, and kissed her forehead. “I promise I will never let you forget.” Later Barbara wrote a note for her closet. My daughter’s name is Susan.
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