The Pain of a Mother Who Lost Her Memory

Late in the afternoon, in a hospital room faintly scented with antiseptic, he knocked on the door and gently pushed it open. His mother was sitting on the bed, her vacant eyes gazing out the window, where the golden light of the fading day was dimming over the treetops. He smiled and walked closer. "Mother, I've come to visit you."

The old woman turned and looked at him for a long while, and then her gaze grew distant and unfamiliar. Frowning, she said in a dry voice, "Who are you? Why have you come into my room?"

His heart clenched. For three years now, his mother had no longer recognized him. The illness of dementia had stolen all of her memories, even the image of the only son she had once loved so dearly.

He remembered how, when he was small, his mother was a hardworking woman who stayed up late and rose early, caring for his every meal and every night's sleep. He grew up in the embrace of her love, and as she grew old, he always promised himself he would care for her well. But now, every time he visited, he had to watch his mother look at him like a stranger, even growing afraid whenever he came near.

One day, he lay beside his mother on the wide bed, hoping for a little of the warmth of family love. Startled, she pushed him away in alarm and shouted, "You are a man—why are you climbing onto my bed? Get out! Get out at once!"

He stood in silence, tears streaming down his cheeks. The son who loved his mother more than anyone in this world, and yet here he was, cast out by his own mother like a stranger. Holding back his heartache, he said gently, "Mother, it's me, your son. My name is Nam. I am your child."

But she only shook her head, her eyes still full of suspicion. Then his wife came in, intending to help her change clothes. The old woman snapped, "Who are you? What are you doing in my room? Don't touch my things!"

His wife smiled and explained softly, "Mother, I am your daughter-in-law. I've come to take care of you." But she stubbornly refused to believe them, clutching her clothes tightly, looking at the two of them with fearful eyes as if they were enemies. He and his wife could only look at each other, helpless. They understood that the mother they honored and loved no longer existed in this world. She was still alive, but she was no longer the mother they had once known.

Sitting in the hospital corridor, gazing out at the empty courtyard, he felt his heart twist with pain. Suddenly he came to understand something: memory is not merely a collection of meaningless recollections. It is the very thread that connects us to one another, to the past, and to ourselves. When memory is lost, a person is no longer themselves. She no longer knew who he was, no longer knew who she herself was, no longer knew why she was opening the wardrobe, no longer knew whom to love. Everything had become meaningless.

From that day on, he no longer blamed his mother when she pushed him away. He simply came to visit her quietly each day, sitting beside her and holding her thin, withered hand, even though she never recognized him. He knew that even though her memory was gone, the love he held for his mother remained whole. And he silently thanked his own memory, for thanks to it, he could still hold the image of his gentle, hardworking mother, and love her forever.

The Meaning of the Story

This story shows just how important memory is in our lives. It allows us to know who we are, to form relationships with others, and to sustain every activity of our lives. When memory is lost, a person no longer exists within the world and can no longer connect with anyone. Therefore, we should treasure and train our memory, while also understanding that memory is part of cause and effect (karmic law), created by blessings from merit.

Compiled from a dharma talk by Venerable Thích Chân Quang