I walk in slowly and quietly close the door behind me. I do not want to frighten him or cause a fuss. One step, two steps. I am getting closer. He is silent and still as a rock. “Hello.” He says. “I don’t get many visitors these days. Perhaps you’re my new nurse? I am not sure what happened to my other one. My family doesn’t come anymore...”

His voice is lacking even the slightest amount of emotion as he rambles on mostly to himself. “My name is Hailey,” I say slowly as I walk into the light, my expression full of concern.

“What a pretty name. You remind me of my little girl, Sarah. But she is such an odd child sometimes, she always has pigtails in every direction sticking out of her head,” he smiles.

“Do you know where she is?” I ask, testing him.

“Of course,” he continues to stare at the wall, not even glancing at me, “She is right down the hall in her room studying. She has a big math test coming up.”

“No she doesn’t!” I can’t take it. I know he’s wrong and he doesn’t care! He just sits there!

“Yes she is,” he rocked in his chair. Back, forth, back, forth. He looked up at me with a blank stare. “Hello, I don’t get visitors that often. What is your name?”

I screamed and ran out of the room crying. Even after three years of me visiting him every week, my grandfather can’t remember me. I am not crying for myself having to tell him who I am each time, but for him. He doesn’t even understand that his daughter died, or that his wife gave up on him, or that I love him. He will always know, but he will never remember. Perhaps he chooses not to. I say goodnight and leave his room. I pray for him as I have every night before. “Remember,” I say to my last real relative, “Please remember.”