Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
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In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampus—the part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didn’t mean harmless. Surgery removed the tumor, and three days later I opened my eyes to a new reality. I could walk, I could talk, but when I looked at my wife, her name was gone. I called her Precious—the only word I could find. A failure of memory, yet perhaps the truest name of all. Recovery has been less cure than re-calibration. Memory gaps are frequent. Conversations vanish. I had to relearn how to write, letter by halting letter. My days are scaffold by alarms, notes, and calendars. When people ask how I am, I don’t list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, “Seven Degrees Left of Center.” It’s not an answer—it’s who I’ve become. |
| It is a Thursday, the beginning of another day. Each day is a new beginning. Today is Thursday. One might think starting over each day is a blessing. I did at first. Now that time has passed. The new beginnings are getting old. I can remember some details—the repetitive details of daily life. What I forget are the creative thoughts. Even using notes, each story lives only as long as the thoughts themselves. The daily repetitive thoughts will stick. A new idea has little chance. These few lines will only live for a short time. I can feel them fading as I try to type faster. There are blessings in every day. Cherish them. And there the focus, concentration, and... and ... then it fades away... |