You\u27re Still Beautiful

In lieu of an abstract, below is the essay\u27s first paragraph. I see you sitting there looking out the window, wondering if you\u27ll remember me today. You look at me and stare, and question yourself, Do I know her? I smile and you smile back. I ask how you are, and you whisper, l don\u27t know . . . I guess I am all right. I try to talk to you, but you barely respond. I try to bring up the good memories that I have of us together, but you don\u27t remember any of them, not a single one. You just sit there and smile, and rub my hand. I still don\u27t believe that this could happen to you. I don\u27t know why, and to me, it just looks like you\u27re suffering. I sit there quietly, looking at the other elderly people sitting in the room. I look back at you and tears start to form in my eyes. I think to myself, you\u27re already dead, you don\u27t remember me, you don\u27t remember anything, but you can\u27t help it and it\u27s not your fault