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 Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
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In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampus—the part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didn’t mean harmless. Surgery removed the tumor, and three days later I opened my eyes to a new reality. I could walk, I could talk, but when I looked at my wife, her name was gone. I called her Precious—the only word I could find. A failure of memory, yet perhaps the truest name of all. Recovery has been less cure than re-calibration. Memory gaps are frequent. Conversations vanish. I had to relearn how to write, letter by halting letter. My days are scaffold by alarms, notes, and calendars. When people ask how I am, I don’t list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, “Seven Degrees Left of Center.” It’s not an answer—it’s who I’ve become. |
| This past week, I experienced change up close. My granddaughter graduated from High School. She doesn't know what is coming. Change. Gone are the daily rituals of preparing for school with the aid of a parent. Gone are the highly monitored rules of public schools. No, now, she will enter the world of self-management, a time when the simple choices of whether to eat breakfast or wear clean clothes are private, personal choices. I think she is well ready. She has already shown tenacity and independence. I look forward to seeing what she chooses to do in the future. I wish her well and send my love for a bright future. |
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Sending prayers for continued improvement and recovery 
