IN MEMORY OF MY MEMORY
It was never crystal-clear as it always had a thin fog to it. For most of my life, I tried to pretend I remembered more than I did. But for most of my life that poor memory just lumbered along with me like an unwanted relative.
And then I turned 60 and my memory gland stopped producing like it did. I felt let down. (Humor intended). And it continued to get worse over the years. At one point I began to miss my original foggy memory.
I tried lying about my memory for a while. When people said: “Dan, do you remember when…, I would nod my head like a bobble head doll implying I was remembering something I wasn’t.
I was either ashamed of that poor memory or judging it quickly realized that my memory was just my memory and that we had been together for over 70 years.
My memory has tried it’s best my whole life and its mediocrity is really nobody’s fault. So now when someone asks me if I remember something, my answer inevitably is: “of course I don’t remember, don’t you realize who you are talking to?”
And to all my patients: none of this is really true. My memory is impeccable. Actually it is a little peccable. Oh well
(Disclaimer: This is not to poke fun of those suffering from one of the dementias. They suffer terribly and they and their caregivers need all of the help and compassion in the world. This is just intended to make fun of those of us with normal aging deficits.)