At one time I had a friend who worked as a houseparent of sorts at a group home for men with head injuries. He invited me to dinner with them one night, and I heard their stories. One I particularly remember was John, who had once had a highly technical job. Now he couldn’t even remember my name five minutes after we were introduced, let alone understand the complex formulae that he had once parsed with ease. He described his memory as a toilet, constantly flushing whatever was dropped in it.
John was a very cheerful man – perhaps pessimism requires memory of all the things that have gone wrong and could go wrong. But I loved my mind, and hated the thought of trading it even for such a sunny disposition. I don’t remember the nature of the accident that claimed John’s memory, but it probably involved automobiles. I think by then I had already gotten in the habit of wearing a seat belt (which I disdained as a teenager, seeing it as part of my mother’s paranoia about safety), but if I hadn’t, perhaps that was when I determined never to drive even across a parking lot without one.
Memory does hold a great deal that is unpleasant, as well as of happier times. But as painful as some memories are, I can’t wish not to have them. They are part of who I am, and wishing not to have those memories is like wishing a part of myself away. Fortunately I have found that time does indeed work as an anesthetic. I remember what happened, but the pain is remembered simply as a fact and not a current emotion.
For the most part I like having a good memory. It makes me good at learning languages, doing crossword puzzles, and finding passages in the Bible without resorting to a concordance. (It’s not much help, however, in disputes with my husband over the details of some past event, as he “remembers” it quite clearly as having happened differently than I remember, and as he has a good memory also, each of us has a different opinion about who remembers it correctly. Fortunately none of these disputes are over important matters, so I let him have his memories and I stick to mine.)
After writing the above paragraphs, I happened to look at a copy of today’s Wall Street Journal on someone’s desk, and ended up reading a front page article on early-onset Alzeimer’s. Most people who develop Alzheimer’s are retired by the time it begins to ravage their lives, but Brian Kammerer was only in his 40’s when his memory began to fail. Fearful of losing his job – which provided both income and insurance for his family – he worked late when no one else was around, to complete his assignments without his co-workers becoming aware of his growing disability. Somehow he successfully worked for five more years, and two more companies – without his employers learning of his memory lapses.
I have read that, while the cause of Alzheimer’s is unknown, and thus it is not clear what can be done to prevent it, staying physically and mentally active is thought to help. I have no problem staying mentally active; lately I have not been doing as well at physical activity. Our family’s schedule has been disrupted both by the arrival of our puppy, and by my husband’s new work schedule (12-hour shifts, 2 days on and 2 days off, with 3-day weekends either on or off). But I need to find a way to get back to a regular schedule of exercise of some kind (taking longer walks with Kyra soon, I hope).
