PAGE
12
July
15, 2003
Missing?
Hasn't
anybody seen my mouse?
Jean
is no help. She is confused. I never had a mouse! The two
dogs just gaze up glassy eyed after being asleep across
my chest while I try to have a quiet time to myself. Fat
lot of chance with those two. They don't have any recollection
of mice either and even if they did they would hardly be
bothered to tell me about it. Yet my loss has left me puzzled
and perplexed. I am beginning to reject the reality of my
rodent even though there is a gnawing gap in my recollection.
I
am unable to recall some very important events of the last
two or three weeks. They must be important events because
otherwise I would not be so concerned about having lost
them in the first place, although what it is that I have
lost is lost and it should not be because it is so important.
Confused? My mouse has got out and I can't even remember
what it looked like.
Living
with dementia is a fascinating experience for me. After
the initial fright at receiving a diagnosis one quickly
becomes to realize that life just goes on. Nothing stops
because you can't remember, love and loving are treasures
you hold fast, nature in all her beauty and savagery is
a constant reminder of our frailness and of the Creator
who makes all possible. This moment in time becomes the
only moment, a gift we all share whether demented or not.
But
here is where I get into difficulties. Somehow I cannot
release myself from feeling so unprepared to make the most
of the moment. If I cannot remember all the planning I did
yesterday to make today so magic and worthwhile I have achieved
less than I am capable of. Surely. Then, when in a very
few days I cannot relive even those magic experiences, you
may begin to see my puzzlement. It is not so much that I
grieve the loss of recall. Rather it is the frustration
of knowing you had hold of something very precious and now
have no idea what it was or to where it has gone.
Hasn't
anybody seen my mouse?
Brian
McNaughton
April 2003
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