The cool September breeze swept through the window, gently turning the pages of an old, worn journal.  Chip Beaudessin sat alone thinking about what he could not remember when a young woman, he guessed around twenty five, walked into the room.  She was a little fuller of figure and her mouth seemed to move faster than his feet when he used to dance the jitterbug with Sally Jean at Chuck’s Diner.  He could not understand a word she said, partially because her lips moved up and down seemingly without a pattern, and partially because no sound was coming out.  The young lady walked closer and leaned in to touch the side of his face.  He leaned away curiously and cautiously, but she was far quicker than he was.  A sudden burst of sound came to life.
The woman bid him good morning and apologized for startling him.  She explained that his hearing aid was off and she was simply trying to help.  Her voice was warm and she had kind eyes, but he had no idea who she was.
“Hello there, darling,” Chip responded.  “That is much better, but I am sorry to say that I am not sure I know you.  Have we met before?”
“That’s okay, Mr. Beaudessin.  I’m your nurse, Bethany.  I come here every day to check on you and make sure you are doing alright.  Do you remember now?  Is there anything I can get for you?”  It was always the same story.  He never remembered who she was, but he was always nothing but kind and appreciative when she explained herself.
He told her that he remembered her with a smile, though he couldn’t say he truly did.
The nurse told him his family had called and wanted to know if it would be alright if they stopped by later.  She spoke calmly and patiently.  Bethany was fresh out of nursing school and had just started working at the nursing home about a month before.  She was very happy to be assigned to such a kind gentleman.
Chip was happy that his family wanted to visit, but had no idea who they were.  His mind was going too fast.  He hated losing the precious memories and was constantly down on himself.  He glanced across the room to something sitting on the end table.  The young nurse nodded her head politely and started to tidy up some of the loose papers and trash blown around by the wind.  “Not the journal please!  I would like to take a look at it and possibly make an entry, but thank you for your help um, uh…”
“Bethany.  It’s alright Mr. Beaudessin.  Everyone forgets every once in awhile.”  Bethany went to grab the journal off of the end table and handed it to him.  As she closed the door behind her, she thought about the infamous journal.  He was always writing in it and had it nearby.  Feeling guilty, she quickly shifted her attention back to her job- keeping Chip Beaudessin comfortable, happy, and sane.
A few hours had gone by since the nurse had stopped in, not that Chip remembered.  He was flipping through pages and adding a couple last things to his journal entry when there was a knock at the door by a couple of small hands.  Two children and a woman somewhere in her 40s entered the room.
“Hi, Dad,” the woman said, as she softly shut the door behind her.  So this must be his daughter.  She was very beautiful for her age and walked with confidence.  He felt pride in knowing that he must have had a hand in raising this lovely young woman.
“Hello sweetheart.  How have you been?”  He used pet names as a way to avoid saying names he could not remember.  What kind of father was he if he could not even remember his own daughter’s name?
“I have been well, Dad.  The kids, Luke and Charlotte, have been well, too.  They just started school yesterday.  We wanted to visit then, but things were a bit too crazy I’m afraid.  And my name is Rebecca.  It’s ok, Dad.  I know this is tough for you.”
What was tough?  He was fine.  Chip constantly told himself this.  So his memory was not the best; that was just a part of getting older, wasn’t it?
“Oh boy!  How was the first day of school kiddos?”  He tried to be excited for them, but felt awful inside because he could not remember their names, let alone the grades they were in or what their favorite subjects were.
“Grandpa, we called you yesterday and told you all about it.  Mommy, why doesn’t Grandpa remember that I told him about starting kindergarten yesterday?”  Charlotte was only five and did not understand her grandfather’s current condition.  Her voice and spirits were as blue as the dress she wore, and it broke her grandfather’s heart.
“Honey, remember on the drive here I told you that Grandpa’s memory is not the best.  He is trying to remember, but he is getting older.”  It was so hard to explain this to a child so young.  How could her mother tell her that her grandfather could not even remember what he had for breakfast this morning let alone what they had talked about the day before?  She couldn’t.  She just had to put on a smile and pretend that things were alright for the sake of her daughter’s innocence.
While Charlotte and her mother were having this side conversation, Luke noticed his grandfather flipping through an old worn book in his lap.  He scooted closer as he tried to peer over his grandfather’s shoulder.
Chip closed the book and looked up.  “Oh, this is nothing you would like.  One of the old books I enjoyed from when I was in third grade.”  He flashed a knowing smile and winked at his grandson.
How could he remember that Luke had just started third grade but not that he and Charlotte had a half hour long phone conversation the day before?  The young boy did not understand.  Chip picked up his pen, clicked it a couple times on his chin and added a little note in his book.
After an hour or so of talking and catching up on things they had already discussed a number of times, Rebecca and the children left.
When Bethany returned for the afternoon check-in, Mr. Beaudessin was using the restroom.  She entered the room and announced her presence so that the forgetful old man did not fear that there was an intruder in the small apartment.  She made her way over to his chair to fluff the pillow when she found an old, worn-looking journal stuck in between the cushion and the arm rest.  She pulled it out and set it on the end table while she finished cleaning up the small space.  By the time she was finished, Chip was still in the bathroom and her curiosity was beginning to get the best of her.  She could not resist and felt the book calling out to her.  It was always at the man’s side and he was always working with it.  What could possibly be inside?  She looked around her shoulder, though she knew that no one was there anyway and slowly opened the journal.  She flipped to a page dated for the day before where there was a picture drawn of a phone with the names “Charlotte” and “Luke” with a “K” next to the former and a “3” beside the latter.  She flipped to a week before that, then a month where she saw a drawing that very much resembled her with the words “Bethany,” “nurse,” and “kind” next to it.  Tears welled up in her eyes and a single droplet rolled down her cheek.  Chip Beaudessin did not need a great memory; all he needed was a pen, paper, and a meaningful moment he could capture before it was blown out of his mind by the cool September breeze.