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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. |
| It is easy to get caught up in a daily grind. The daily pattern of completing a checklist of tasks. There is a purpose for the list, for the effort needed to make it through each new day. Sometimes I need to be reminded. I took a break from reading and writing my daily notes. I really needed the break, but I shouldn't have done that. Now, I am a little lost. Sometimes I forget that I forgot what I have forgotten. I know that probably doesn't make sense. That is okay, it doesn't always make sense to me. I have to remind myself that I have brain damage that causes memory loss. My daily notes aren't just habit—they're how I hold onto yesterday, last week, last month. When I stopped reading them, I lost more than the routine. I lost the days themselves. This isn't about being forgetful. It's about needing systems that work, and the consequences of breaking them. The notes create a bridge between who I was yesterday and who I am today. Without them, each morning starts with a gap. Not just "What did I do?" but "Who was I?" The checklist isn't busy work. It's proof that I existed, proof that things happened, proof that I had thoughts worth keeping. The break was necessary. The consequences are real. Both things can be true. Today I write a note. Tomorrow I will read it. The system rebuilds itself one day at a time. |
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Sending prayers for continued improvement and recovery 
