The Weight of Lilacs

The scent of lilacs always punched me in the gut, a sharp, sweet reminder of summers past. Mom had always loved them, insisted on planting a bush right outside her bedroom window. Now, the lilacs were in full bloom, their purple clusters heavy with fragrance, but Mom... Mom was a different story.

I sat beside her bed, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. She was staring out the window, a vague smile playing on her lips. "They're so beautiful, aren't they?" she whispered, her voice thin and reedy.

"They are, Mom," I said, reaching for her hand. It felt frail, almost birdlike, in mine. "Just like you used to say."

She squeezed my hand weakly. "Did I? I don't... I don't remember saying that." A flicker of confusion crossed her face, quickly replaced by that same distant smile.

My chest tightened. It was happening more and more often now. The memories, the little things that made her *her*, were slipping away like sand through her fingers. I hated Alzheimer's. I truly, deeply hated it.

"It's okay, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "It doesn't matter. I remember for both of us." I tried to sound confident, but the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

We sat in silence for a while, the only sound the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the chirping of birds outside. Then, she turned to me, her eyes suddenly clear. "Sarah? Is that you?"

My heart leaped. "Yes, Mom. It's me, Sarah."

"You look so tired, darling," she said, her voice filled with concern. "Are you taking care of yourself?"

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. "I'm fine, Mom. Really. I just... I worry about you."

She smiled, a genuine, warm smile that reached her eyes. "Don't you worry about me," she said. "I've had a good life. A very good life. And I have you, don't I?"

"You do, Mom," I said, squeezing her hand tighter. "You'll always have me."

The moment passed, as quickly as it came. Her eyes glazed over again, and the clear, focused look vanished. "Lilacs," she murmured, her voice drifting off. "So pretty..."

I stayed with her for another hour, reading aloud from her favorite book, even though I knew she probably wasn't listening. It didn't matter. Being there, holding her hand, was enough. It was all I could do.

As I left that evening, the scent of lilacs hung heavy in the air. I knew that someday soon, the memories would be gone completely. But for now, they were still there, fragile and precious, like the delicate purple blooms that filled the air with their bittersweet fragrance. And I would hold onto them, with everything I had, for as long as I could. The weight of those lilacs, of those memories, was heavy, but it was a weight I would gladly carry.