A few lost words

My grandmother started therapy today. The goal, as I've been told, is to repair the damage from the stroke and re-teach some of the language that has been lost. She spends three hours a day on it and it is apparently exhausting.

It is very odd to think of an 82 year old woman having to relearn how to talk. It's almost like something has come full circle and people return to childhood as time passes. Language seems like something so elemental. It feels like something that is automatically part of me, something that I cannot remember ever being without. It is nearly impossible to get my head around the fact that it can actually be lost in a matter of moments.

And yet, things surely have been lost. No matter how successful the therapy is, there are things that will not return to my grandmother and things that have been slipping away for a number of years now. Perhaps, at the next party she will not be able to recall the verses of "On the Way to Cape May" or "The Wild Rover". We may never again hear the story of how she used to dirty her childhood clothes watching a baker make cinnamon rolls through a basement window or listen to her try to hold back her laughter as she recounts that infamous van ride to South Bend.

In spite of all this, I don't think these things are entirely gone. Out of this a family legend can be built. The stories may be hazy, and we will likely get the details wrong. Joe and Terry will lie, of course, but that's what makes it legend. In the end, these stories will continue to be told over potluck brunches and tables covered in empty Miller Light bottles, even if it is not our matriarch doing the talking. Plus, I can guarantee that after all those beers are finished we will all still know every single word to "Sweet Caroline".