Memory is a kind of danger. The end of the war-Sweden made those words possible for you. Working again as a seamstress, this time for kind women for pay. A time of recuperate before returning to assess absolute loss. Wicked and unmovable loss.
Memory is a kind of stone.
And now your body is emaciated again. Disoriented and distressed, you have forgotten how to eat and do not want to remember. Your hand knocks Sharon's benevolent spoon away. A stroke brought you to the hospital, where you forgot how to breathe and do not want to remember. The ventilator tricks your body into remaining alive.