Well Meaning Friends

Call me Gram · November 6

My husband is losing memories. It’s funny, how we’ll be at a dinner party, or run into old friends at the supermarket, and he tells them he is getting forgetful. In most cases, they immediately respond with, “Me too!” and then go on to tell of forgetting where they put their glasses, failing to remember the name of a prior boss, struggling to think of a word, or going into another room and forgetting why they are there. They tell of how their spouse says, “We talked about this already.” Then, they are on their way, dealing with their normal aging brains.

I know they mean well, and they think they understand. But, I want to ask them, “Have you felt lost in your own neighborhood, yet? Have you failed to recognize your own vehicle, that you’ve owned for nearly a decade, and parked yourself only an hour before, in broad daylight, while your wife is insisting it is yours? Have you looked at a photo of your own grandson and argued that some other boy in the photo is really him?”

Then there’s forgetting the answer to a question. These well meaning friends say they ask the same questions more than once. I want to ask them, “Do you do that repeatedly, for two hours at a time, nearly every few minutes, receiving the same answer each time? Do you get up to look at the calendar, then sit down, get back up to look again, sit down, get back up to look again, and repeat this process numerous times throughout the evening?”

Of course, there’s the normal worries, “Did I pay that bill? Have I forgotten an appointment?” Try multiplying those worries by 100 or more. Nearly every morning, my husband comes to the kitchen saying he struggled to sleep because he was worried that we had let our car insurance lapse, or forgotten to submit our taxes. He says he wants me to be more involved in these things, joining him at meetings with our accountant, as well as our financial advisor. He doesn’t remember that I’ve been doing that for the last two years.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t feel annoyance toward these well meaning friends. They think they know what my husband means when he says he is getting forgetful. They think they understand. I don’t bother correcting them. What point would that serve? I just smile and nod. Then, we go on our way, too, knowing that everyone has their own concerns. We are just happy to have each other, and to be able to walk, talk, and be.