I am a patient of dementia; forgetfulness and memory loss, to be precise.
A poetess, Elizabeth Bishop once said, “the art of losing isn’t hard to master”. I find myself mastering this art every day.
I am not only losing mere memories, but I am losing moments that I loved, I am losing people, objects, family, places, education, sleep, but most of all, I am losing myself.
Some days I wake up and I do not remember the person I love. Some days I walk back to home and don’t recognize my mother. Some days , I forget where my home is. Some days I do not sleep , at all and stay awake trying to remember things as I once did. I was often appreciated for my unusual sharp memory , I try to remember, why?
Imagine yourself, drowning in water. What do your reflexes do? you gasp for breaths and shout for help, your hands consistently trying to hold onto something, but what comes in your hands? nothing. No matter how much you try, you cannot hold onto water. And slowly, you drown. You feel the loss by every inch, each second like a stone on your heart. The mouth can no longer ask, the hands can no longer hold. Something, like a black hole, pulling you inside, its force peerless, your limbs conquerable.Yet you endeavor, endlessly. The basic and utmost reflex of a human to survive against disasters.
The last part of this hypothesis, something in you gives in. You cannot fight, your body doesn’t allow you to.
You give in.
Do not peg this for suicidal tendencies.
I have given my best attempt at explaining to you what being in my shoes feels like. It’s sore and sorrowful.
The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute – like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness.”
– Haruki Murakami
What do we not do to preserve our memories? We as normal, usual human beings. We keep the things that bring memory of a person associated with it, close to our hearts. We keep belongings of people , photos to reminisce, and even chats to go back to. We make all the possible attempts at saving and savoring the best of our memories. Each moment, we are busy making memories.
If there is something I have learned from this illness of mine is, to live in the moment and not in the list of possibilities of how we can save them for later. These memories aren’t loyal to us. They are there in our lives, making impressions, like transient footsteps on the sand. The previous one getting lighter and fading into nothingness with the birth of every new.
“Nothing can last forever. There isn’t any memory, no matter how intense, that doesn’t fade out at last.”
– Juan Rulfo
This goes out to all the people who have any sort of dementia and are struggling with the loss of their memory.I know it feels like sand slipping out of our hands, whether you hold it loose or you hold it tight. I know this disease comes with helplessness and no self control. But in this race that everyone is busy running, our lives have slowed down and I like to think, for good. So what if we are losing moments, aren’t we getting a new one with no scars from past?With people around me wishing, if they could forget the sorrows from past and move on, haven’t we already learned to let go and find happiness in present.
To a life without any scars from past, to a life with no worries about future, to a life of present.