Banned Words, by Jim Woessner

When she started forgetting our names and repeating stories from when she was a child, our parents’ house became a fortress against words. Words like “dementia,” “Alzheimer’s,” and “madness.” It was as if the words themselves had somehow caused the disease and were no longer allowed inside. Our enforced silence became the hoped-for cure. No matter that it was more about shielding his ears than hers, about protecting him from the poison of fear. After she died, the banned words slowly returned, but they never lost their new meanings, never shed the weight they carried when they had entered uninvited.