Imagine accepting that each moment is a chance to start over. Imagine being unhindered by memory. Imagine not being able to think, but only to imagine. It would be a bit like dreaming. And what is it that counts in our dreams? What can we take with us when we die? It's something that aging and even dementia can't take away. It's the moments of communion that we have known, with creatures, gardens and gods... otherwise known as love.
Our heroine, Victoria, has lost her memory; she's lost her pussycat, she's lost control over her life... and her bladder. She has lost almost everything. Victoria is but a shadow of herself; a character who has forgotten her role, a puppet who adapts and adopts comic and dramatic situations as her imagination dictates. Her wheelchair is also her rocking chair, her prison, her tango partner and her flying chariot.
Living isn't easy and neither is dying, but it is all interlaced with moments of great richness... little victories. Victoria savors every moment. I was glad to find a bit of myself in her. I hope that you will, too.