A Brutal Reminder

Every once in a while we humans are confronted with the inexorable passage of time and the debilitating impact it has on us. Most of the time we are too busy to notice. Then suddenly it appears, staring us in the face. We are always surprised, taken aback by the decline and fall. We shouldn’t be, but we are. It was that way with a friend today. He looked at me, straight in the face, as it dawned on him that his memory had completely failed. He had not remembered what we had just been talking about. His eyes became vacant, as if he was seeing someone else beside me, someone he didn’t know at all. He caught himself, realized that I had driven a long way to talk with him about something of which he no longer had any memory. He became embarrassed. His eyes filled with tears. We both fell into a painful silence. 

I had heard rumors of his decline, but until this awkward moment, I had no evidence that it was true. But now there is no ambiguity. He is no longer able to rely on his mind to tell him the truth. I can no longer council him with the confidence that he is comprehending my advice. It is a bitter pill for both of us. The moment when the realization of his diminishment registered on his face will be one that I will never forget.

The slow train of cognition winds its way through the mountains at its own pace, slowly for some, brutally swift for others. But it comes for us all eventually. Unfortunately for me, I get to observe its arrival more so than most because of the nature of my work. I hate it. I hate that its so arbitrary. I hate the unfairness of it all. I leave each of these encounters diminished, drained of something for a while, until life’s momentum sweeps me up again in its mighty current. Tonight, I think about my friend, the terrified look on his face, and the heavy silence that descended in that dark moment, and I am reminded of the words of the Psalmist, “Boast not thyself of tomorrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth...”