Memories

I remember noticing the change.
I don't remember when it happened.
I remember his somewhat better days.
I don't remember when he was really young and quick.
I remember feeling frightened:
I don't remember what it was that time --
A forgotten name?
A wobbly step?
I remember moments of relief:
I don't remember whether he'd won checkers or chess
but it proved that his mind was still here.
I remember how he cried
because my father introduced me
and he thought I was my namesake, his wife.
I remember bringing him dinner
I don't remember what was wrong
but he refused to eat, like a child.
I remember knowing that we'd lost him.
I don't remember whether that was before
or after
he died.

On the occasion of my grandfather's yahrtzeit.
(Written a few years ago)
He was a very special person who did a lot for the preservation of observant Judaism in America.
I never knew that person.