My father left Argentina in the 1970’s, a decade of coups and the beginning of the dictatorship. By the time I could speak enough Spanish to talk to my grandmother, her memories were moth-eaten by Alzheimer’s. I moved back to Argentina forty years after my father’s arrival in the US. What did my family miss in those four decades? What did my grandmother remember, before she forgot? A fragmented fable of identity, memory, and migration.