A Photo for the Scrapbook

    They watched in surprise as she stumbled cautiously down the stairs. In the past three years she'd left her house only once, when they'd moved her into the home. She was better off there, really. Her mind was going and her health was quickly deteriorating. She had refused to go of course, but was powerless to stop them. They'd all felt guilty at first, but no one really thought about it anymore. She was in good hands--their hands were much too busy--at the home. They'd done their part, what any respectable American would do. She was better off there, really.
-- "This is the best Christmas present we could ask for!"
-- "Gram! It's so good to see you!"
-- "It's so wonderful to have you here!"
-- "Come say hi to Gram everybody!"
-- "We're so happy you came tonight Gram!"
    They stood in a circle around her, waiting to fulfill their hug-duty.
-- "Who are you?"
-- "This is Janet, Gram, your granddaughter."
-- "Oh, it's so nice to see you kids again. It's so lonely in that home."
    She had trouble remembering things these days. There were so many people around. Who were all these people? Whose house was this that she was in? And where was her dog--what was his name? They all took their turn hugging her, telling her how nice it was to see her.
-- "Kids! Come over here and see you great-grandmother."
-- "Do we have to right now?"
-- "Get over here and say hi to your great-grandmother right now!"
    They reluctantly approached her, waiting to pay their holiday penance.
-- "Who is this?"
-- "This is my son, Ben, Gram."
-- "Of course...Ben."
-- "Ben, stand next to your great-grandmother so we can get a picture."
    She wasn't sure who Ben was, but it sure felt nice to hug someone.
-- "Gram, this is Gary."
-- "Hi Gram, it's so nice to see you."
    Everybody certainly seemed happy to see her. Who was Gary? These people were all so nice to her. It wasn't like at the home, where no one ever talked to anyone but themselves.
-- "Gary, put your arm around Gram for a picture."
-- "Blake, come over here for a picture with Gram. Don't you want to see your great-grandmother?"
-- "I just wanted to give her a little space to breathe. Everybody's been crowding around her like she's a piece of scenery or something. Another photo opportunity to immortalize the Christmas cheer. Why don't you try talking to her and spend a little less time 'building memories'? But I guess pictures don't have to talk or feel or care, do they? In ten years your only recollections of this night will be the ones you manufactured on film."
-- "I didn't ask you for a lecture. I just want to get a picture of you and your great- grandmother."
    He shuffled over to the small crowd in resignation. Everybody was drinking and smiling, but no one was talking--really talking, that is. It was all perfunctory conversation, idle chatter. He hated these family get-togethers: five hours of smiling and recounting to assorted family members the same boring tales that they weren't paying attention to anyway.
-- "Hi Gram, how are you doing these days?"
-- "Whose kid is this?"
-- "This is Diane's kid, Gram, Blake."
-- "Don't you remember Gram, we came to visit you in the home?"
-- "It's so nice to see you kids all grown up."
-- "This is the best Christmas present we could ask for."
    He didn't know what else to say to her. She seemed so overwhelmed with everything. Perhaps he would talk to her later, after all the photos and ogling. He found it sadly amusing that everyone kept saying, "This is the best Christmas present we could ask for," suggesting that she was there solely for their benefit, an unlimited source of photo opportunities. With an exaggerated sigh, he shuffled back to his seat and resumed his assault on the half-filled plate of sugar-cookies. He sat munching the cookies in silence, catching bits and pieces of conversation.
-- "She's so old. I don't want to talk to her. She can't even hold a real conversation. She forgets what you're talking about. I          mean, it's really nice to have her here and all...
-- "Yeah, it's great that she's here, but she's not our responsibility, right?"
    That's funny, Blake thought, he couldn't remember them saying anything worth listening to, let alone listening to anyone. They didn't even have an excuse. But they were right about the responsibility part--family had really become something of a liability rather than an asset.
-- "Blake, Gram wants to talk to you. It's your turn."
    He snatched a handful of pretzels and made his way to the other end of the room, lowering himself into the seat next to his great-grandmother. She directed her wrinkled countenance at him and smiled. He smiled back; it was all he could think to do.
-- "I'd hardly recognize you, kid. Last time I saw you, you were all dressed up in a suit and tie. You looked so handsome."
    He'd never worn a suit in his life, but it seemed like the thought pleased her, so he abstained from correcting her.
-- "I remember when you and your mother used to come visit me and pick raspberries..."
-- "Yeah, you always made the best jam. I remember chasing Lenny around the back yard while you and mom picked the         berries. Do you remember Lenny, Gram?"
    Lenny! That was her dog's name! She missed Lenny dearly; he had been her sole companion all those lonely years. What had ever happened to good ol' Lenny? She didn't remember things too well these days. She had very few memories of the kids or even her late husband. She couldn't even remember his name. Lenny was one of her few remaining memories, and even that was slowly slipping away from her. What had happened to Lenny?
-- "What ever happened to Lenny? Do you remember?"
-- "I'm not really sure Gram.
    Lenny had been pretty old, actually. He figured that poor old Lenny had probably passed away, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her this. Memories were all she had left of life. She wasn't really living in the home; life had come to a halt for her. She couldn't really understand things anymore. Her life was a series of random happenings, that she couldn't make any sense of. They weren't so different, he thought, she just wasn't trying to understand it anymore. All a person was, really, was a collection of memories and associations. Most people didn't even have that; all they had were books of photographs that didn't mean anything anymore or someday wouldn't. They spent all their time trying to capture life, they were so afraid of missing any of it, that they never bothered to live it. But memories were all they had. What then did Gram's life amount to if she couldn't remember any of it? What if she forgot everything before she died? The world inside her mind had become very small and would soon disappear all together. She had started with a step out of nothing, into creation; she would end with a step out of creation, into nothing. Like all life hers was a circle, starting and ending at the same point: nothing. He certainly couldn't bring himself to rob her of her one remaining memory.
-- "Lenny sure was a good dog, wasn't he Gram?"
-- "He sure was..."
    An overweight black Labrador approached her leg, circled around it sniffing, and wagged its tail. She reached out to stroke its fur, like she once had Lenny's, but the dog quickly retreated from her outstretched hand.
-- "Go see Gram, Chubbins, go see Gram."
    The dog turned once again to face her, repeating its circle-sniff-tail-wag-routine. She again reached out, and again the dog retreated. Why wouldn't the dog let her pet him? The dog reminded her of Lenny. Lenny was such a nice dog. He always loved it when she pet him. She reached out once more for the dog, but it again shuffled away, this time lying down safely out of reach. Why wouldn't the dog let her pet him?
-- "Lenny was a good dog, wasn't he?"
-- "He sure was Gram."

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