Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
|
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. |
| I have a problem with living in the past. What happens is I have grown attached to the memories I do have? But that creates a problem. I find myself spending too much time on nostalgia. I can remember the event from high school as if it just happened. Then, I have a harder time letting it go. Intellectually, I know it is history. Emotionally, it is fresh. I am still working on resolving the trauma from everything. The brain tumor, the heart attacks, and the recovery I am still experiencing. I find I forget to focus on the present. Being here right now is more important than the past anyway. We cannot change the past, so why do I get stuck there? So moving forward, I want, I dearly say need, to stay more present. I think it will do us all good to be more present. |