Stories. They are a part of our composition and we love to tell them, share them, remember them. Our identity is wrapped up in the stories we hold on to. As we go about our daily lives, we accumulate these stories in the back of our minds, saving them for a rainy day. These stories contain drama, sadness, joy, and even the mundane. The irony is often we don’t realize the sum of our days become the best story of all. The coffee shop we went to every Tuesday morning,


Memory. Something that we all take for granted, the ability to function without assistance as our muscle memory automatically does what is required of us. Memory. Is to know our own name and where we are at all times—to recognize the faces of loved ones surrounding us and trust that tomorrow has a plan. These are the things that the beloved residents I work with at the Masonic Home do not have the luxury of possessing. We often do not think about our ability to remember and recall with ease