I was 22 when my grandmother forgot me.
It took her 12 years to die from Alzheimer's. It started with little things, like where her glasses were or what day it was. Soon she didn't know who I was. For a while, she addressed me as her son, but then, as the disease ate away more of her mind, she forgot him too. Then I was the young, handsome version of her husband, until he too faded away. After a while, I was just a nice young man who came to visit her.
