"Take care of these. I know you will." I looked at the pressed flowers and yellowed ticket stubs - my heirlooms. She pulled out a slip of paper from under the pillow and scribbled. Sifting through the carefully folded notes, she unfolded one. "What was his name?" I told her, for the fourth time since morning. "I don't want you to go anywhere, just stay here." I was going nowhere. "I get very restless when I leave the house. I haven't been out since summer." You need to get out Gran. "I forget things often, is there something wrong with me?" I do too, it's ok. "I feel like I'm losing my mind." She put the notes back under the pillow. Each note held a nugget of her life, a moment in time, a memory. I could see the darkness in her feeble stare - a galaxy of fading stars redrawing her zodiac with each dying star. "I don't sleep well. I'm afraid. Not that I will not wake up, but that I'll forget where I keep my notes."