蜜芽传媒

Now that my father is nearly a hundred, his memory isn鈥檛 quite what it was: the other day he had to look up a really obscure Greek word. If even the redoubtable Dame Joan Bakewell needs Post-it notes, it鈥檒l surely come to all of us fortunate enough to reach seniority.

The day the doctor mentioned dementia seemed a cruel one. 鈥淲hat nonsense,鈥� I said unconvincingly, but a few days later my father admitted, 鈥淵es, I suppose she has.鈥� My mother no longer remembered exactly which grandchild was at what stage. But the real shock came when she asked our six year old how many noughts in a million. My mother was a mathematician: she must have known the answer since long before she was six.

And yet she was still my mother. Still the kindest, happiest, sunniest person you could ever meet, still with a twinkle in her eye and love for everyone. So that when she died, that bitter autumn five years ago, my husband felt the soul of the home had fled, though she鈥檇 only lived with us a few weeks. We hadn鈥檛 realised how ubiquitous was her spirit.

So did she retain her full identity even without her memory?

The faith into which Jesus was born is founded on remembering. This tiny proportion of the world鈥檚 population, with no land or state or government for so much of its history and such savage and persistent persecution for so long throughout it, still retains its clear distinction as a faith and a people. Through memory. Every year at Passover the youngest child still prompts the story of God saving his chosen people nearly three thousand years ago. The onus on a boy at his bar mitzvah is to remember. Currently, Hanukkah recalls the Great Miracle in the Temple so long ago. Zachar! Remember!

The faith Jesus founded follows suit. Do this to remember me. 伪谓伪渭谓畏蟽喂谓: in remembrance. An essential sacrament. Even in the birth, we remember His death, taking communion on Christmas Day. Even in the death and even more vitally, we remember the life it ushered in.

If we ever forget to remember, our faith will surely die. We will no longer be who we are.

At my mother鈥檚 funeral, my son said to my cousin, 鈥淔orgive me for not being more upset. I really said goodbye to Granny several years ago.鈥� He too is a mathematician. He lost the grandmother he adored when his grandmother lost her maths.

I would do anything to have my mother back. I miss her every day. But he was right: she was no longer who she was.

One day, though, I believe she will be. Because of that birth and death which we remember in the past, there is a birth beyond death to look forward to in the future. And then my mother will be who she was again, her body restored, her mind restored, all her mathematical brilliance restored.

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