My mother remembered the song but not that I was her son

Dear Delyara, Mum has dementia. Today, I visited with an old record she used to play while cleaning on Saturdays. She did not know my name when I arrived. She thought I was someone who worked there. I stopped correcting her months ago because watching embarrassment appear on her face helps nobody. I put the music on. Within seconds, she began singing. Every lyric. Verses I had forgotten. Her voice is weaker now, but the words came with frightening confidence. She tapped her hand against the chair and smiled at me as if inviting a stranger to join. I sang too. Halfway through, she looked at me and said, “My boy loved this one.” I could not sing the next line. I wanted to say, I am your boy. I am right here. Instead, I said, “Did he?” She said yes, very proudly. “He was a terrible singer.” That made me laugh because I am. For three minutes, my mother remembered my bad singing more clearly than my face. I have always thought memory was how people remain ours. Today, music proved love can survive in pieces that no longer know how to identify themselves.