Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. Iām learning to adapt. |
In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampusāthe part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didnāt 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 Preciousāthe 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 donāt list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, āSeven Degrees Left of Center.ā Itās not an answerāitās who Iāve become. Note ▼ |
The generations do change. What was once "cool" is now "fire." At least according to my grandson. When did I find this out? This 4th of July. My grandson kept saying, "That's fire." When in reality something "cool" happened. A complete role reversal has taken place with these words. And here, I thought he was referring to the fact that fireworks, well, are literally fire? Anyway, we had a fabulous 4th of July that was both "cool" and "fire" depending on your birth date. |