A Matter of Time

I'll probably think about her when I can't remember where my car keys are.

It's conceivable I will remember her when something random, something obscure, hops onto my train of thought.  Like the state capitals.  Or the elements of the periodic table..  Or the starting lineup of the 1988 L.A. Dodgers.  Or the lyrics to a song I haven't heard in twenty years.

I am certain I will be more cognitive of both the remarkable ability our brains have to retain information we learned a lifetime ago and the momentary lapses of recalling something as simple as our next door neighbor's name or where our car keys went that we literally held in our hands a few minutes previously.

I will think about her when I amaze myself with my own intellectual grasp of retaining information and I will think about her when I frustrate myself for forgetting things that I should know without having to think.


She's a stranger.
A passerby in my life.


Imagine, because you can, you are still fairly young.  You're sitting in the waiting room at your doctor's office.  Thinking what to cook for dinner.  Wondering how the kids and grand kids are.  Planning out the rest of the week in your head.

Imagine, because you still can, that life couldn't get much better. 

Then, the doctor calls you into his office.  And he gently tells you that you are in the early stages of Alzheimer's.

Suddenly, flashes of memories pour through your mind.  Jumping rope as a little girl.  That first kiss.  Dad teaching you how to drive.  Your wedding vows.  Yesterday's weather.

Imagine, just because you still are able to, that you are now aware that all of those moments that make up one's life will soon be forever erased from your mind.

Imagine, because it is your duty to, that it's only a matter of time.


She's just a stranger.
Potentially, a reflection of a future me.
Or maybe a bullet I will dodge.


It's a matter of time for her.  She told me so.  Today, on my birthday.

It's just a matter of time for her.  So, she's imagining what those days that lie ahead will be like.  She's imagining so because she still can.

She spends her days now doing puzzles.  She's reciting the names of each family member in hopes she never forgets.  She's reading a lot. 

She won't forget where her car keys are.  Not now.  Not today.

But she knows, it's just a matter of time when misplaced car keys will be the least of her frustrations.

She's just a stranger.
Someone who wrote me a note.

Someone I will never forget.

God willing.