I heard my name called from the dementia ward

Dear Delyara, I visit my mother every Wednesday. She has not recognized me for nearly a year. Today, I was leaving the ward when I heard someone call my childhood nickname: “Mimi.” I turned so fast I dropped my bag. Mother was standing at the doorway with a nurse beside her. Her face was clear, completely clear. She said, “Why are you going? We haven’t had tea.” I ran back. We sat together for twelve minutes. She asked about my husband by name, remembered my son’s university, and complained that I had cut my hair too short. I was afraid to move because any movement might frighten the moment away. Then she looked at the nurse and asked why a stranger was sitting at her table. The stranger was me again. I did not correct her. I finished the tea while she ignored me. In the lift, I felt almost angry. One year of forgetting had become easier to carry than twelve minutes of being returned to my mother and removed again. People call these lucid moments gifts. Perhaps they are. Tonight, it feels like someone opened a locked door long enough for me to see the room exactly as I remembered it, then closed it while I was still reaching through.