My coworker had a sticky note on her monitor that read “11 more.” At first, I thought nothing of it, but as the number dropped to 8 and then 5, she seemed more exhausted each day. One Monday, the note disappeared, only to be replaced the next morning with “14 more.” Worried something was wrong, I finally asked her what it meant. With a gentle smile, she explained that her mother had begun losing her memory the previous year, forgetting simple words like “cup,” “window,” and even her own daughter’s name. They had made a special deal: every time her mother remembered one of those forgotten words on her own, they celebrated it, and the number on the sticky note tracked how many words she had remembered again. Suddenly, I understood that it had never been a countdown, but a record of precious little victories. The next morning, a new note appeared: “15 more.” For the first time, I found myself hoping that number would keep growing forever, because sometimes the smallest moments of remembrance bring the greatest hope.