Memory has always struck me as a rather tenuous thing. Even the healthiest minds muddle and jumble and transpose memories. Inevitably, I struggle with the idea of memory primarily because of my own love-hate relationship with it. I’ve no idea why some events are indelible, while others are frustratingly present.
It’s often near impossible to trace back the origin of a particular story, and so it is with “Shepherding“. I’m certain, as much as I can be, that this story’s origin stems from my trips to visit my grandmother in her retirement home. While she is not in need of memory care, the unit exists on the same floor as her small apartment.
In many ways “Shepherding” is an exploration of perceptions and inner struggle. Terese struggles with finally making sense of what her granddaughter is doing. Even in her own intermittent confusion she is able to make enough sense of the actions to feel culpable. For me, this makes what is happening all the more complex as Terese has to square her filial responsibility with the responsibility as a lifelong devout Christian. I’m not naïve enough to claim unfettered responsibility for the story itself.Continue Reading