I truly don’t think one really begins to miss their memory until it’s gone. Sometimes we just go through life, handling day-to-day tasks and thinking nothing of standing in the garage with a stack of hangers, a bag of unmated socks and a stuffed animal the puppy just tore to shreds.
It’s terrible when this situation becomes our new normal. These days I find myself standing in the midst of chaos and wondering if I have completely lost my mind.
I used to take my memory for granted. I thought nothing of walking into a room and remembering why I had come. It was no big deal to remember dates, places and why I was in the middle of the supercenter.
Just yesterday I found myself in the grocer’s freezer with nary a clue as to why I was there. Back in the day, I never needed lists. I would just make a mental note of what I needed from the store and fill an oversized cart with ease.
Now I compile detailed lists of everything I need to purchase, places I need to go and obligations that need tending. It’s organized, efficient and systematic — right up until the time that I forget where I left the list.
Remembering the names of people I know, and could quite possibly be related to, is darn near impossible. I stumble through introductions and oftentimes feign recognition. Worse yet, I seem to be the only one who suffers from this affliction.
“Hello Lori,” folks often say as they approach. “How’s your husband, Pat, your four sons, Vernon, Huey, Lawrence and Charlie? How is your beautiful cat, Jo, and darling dog, Sadie?”
They then go on to inquire about my parents and my siblings, and if I was ever able to break in those cute, yet painful shoes I purchased at a door buster sale just last year.
When it’s my turn to return the courteous inquiries, I have nothing. “How are you and … your people?” is all I can muster. That right there is a safe bet, because even though I don’t know if this person has a spouse, children or pets, everyone has people, don’t they? Often, I have a dim memory of who the person is. Perhaps I remember a smile or mannerism, but other than that, I draw a complete blank.
Sometimes I have no memory of an individual at all, but I know I don’t like them. I just have no idea why. I have no recollection of what they did to offend me. All I know is that there is some wrong that was never righted and although I have no idea of what the offensive action is, I know that I can’t possibly let it go.
More often there are people I meet and greet and know in my heart of hearts that we shared a warm moment, talked in detail about our lives and really connected on a human level.
Other than that, I have nothing.
Yet it is the simple connections I have with others, and quickly forget, that causes me both angst and embarrassment.
Take last week for example, when a beautiful lady came to our antique shop.
“Hello!” I called as she approached. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes, Lori,” she said with concern on her face. “I was just here yesterday.”
“Oh!” I responded as if I remembered, when I clearly had no recollection whatsoever. I tried for a moment to bring something up from the sludge that is my memory, yet came up with nothing.
Then I dug deep into my bag of tricks that I use to cover the fact I have a bad memory and pulled this one out, “Did you get new eyeglasses?”
“No. They’re the same ones I wore yesterday and you told me how much you liked them.”
Not wanting to put my big foot into my big mouth again, I simply replied, “Oh,” and walked away.
There was nothing in my bag of tricks for that one.
At least I remembered that I liked her and you have to trust me when I say that has to count for something.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of “Are We There Yet?” Reach her at [email protected]