by David Tiesma on Thursday, December 6, 2012 at 4:35pm ·
It started easily, simple even. Nothing to be alarmed of. No, it would take awhile before any type of internal or external alarms were activated. But how often is this the case? Easier to pretend that the pain inside is just a passing thing. How many times have you had that happen only to have it go away a few days or weeks later? Most of us have embarrassed ourselves by forcing a visit to the doctor or med center, thinking something serious was happening only to find out it wasn't anything that required immediate, or any kind of real concern. No real harm done. Except for the slightly patronizing look from the doctor and the not very well concealed condescension in his voice. Let's face it, if you have ever left a doctor and all he prescribed was a hopped up version of Tylenol, you probably should have stayed home and saved yourself the time and the co-pay.
To phrase it another way, have you ever thought you smelled smoke? And you look everywhere for it, your sense of panic fighting with your logic that it is probably nothing? For there seems to be something in us that craves the spectacular. Of course, we don't actually want a fire, but what if there was? We would have to act quickly and decisively. We would step up and do what needed to be done to extinguish the fire or even worse (better?), we would have to save lives by getting everyone out. Don't pretend you haven't.
What's worse, smelling smoke that isn't really there? Or NOT smelling it when everyone else does and it really exists?
The fire is creeping towards, you, growing in intensity. You have a vague idea that is there. In fact there are times you are terrifyingly aware that is engulfing you. But try as they may, nobody can save you. And you can't save yourself.
Oh, to be young again. To be filled with such...certainty. Youth does not generally trouble itself with things like frailty and finality. It is a wondrous landscape with options and promise aplenty. It is all laid out in front of you and it all seems so attainable. Just pick a path and go live an incredible life!
I remember what it was like to see the elderly and infirmed and for it to be so far off that it can't begin to encroach on your consciousness. Or for that time that it was just a distant future and not a stark reality.
it was a brown mouse. why was he here? such a cute little thing. i wanted to pet him so bad. he looks so soft, but he is too quick. i hope momma doesn't see. you know how upset she gets when she sees them. plus she wants them dead. i don't like seeing them dead in their little traps...
Forgive me. It appears I don't have much time left. Or maybe I do. It is hard to tell. Please know I am trying to hold on as best I can. Do you have any idea how frightening it is to lose your sense of where you are? Your sense of who you are? How damn terrifying it is to lose you? God forgive me. I am not a man given to profanity. It feels as foreign to my mouth as a grain of sand.
It seems almost close enough to touch. When I was young and full of vigor. It's funny, I always knew that this time would come. Knew there would be a time that I would look back on my life as an old man. Of course everyone knows this, but I felt it. Thought about it. You know when this struck me the most? When I would look in the Saturday paper and see the anniversary pictures of the couples who had been married for100 years or so. Frequently they would show their wedding picture from 1940 or something crazy like that. The look in their eyes... so full of promise, potential and excitement. So young. And right next to them, a picture of what they are now. Still the same people? Yes, in many ways. In many ways, no. Until you have lived 85 years you do not know how it affects a person, the body, the mind, the will, the... you.
I am not the man I was 40 years ago, heck, I'm not the man I was 2 years ago. So much has changed.
One of my first realizations of the gravity of aging came from my grandmother. She and I were close. My mom's mother. I remember her house always smelled of food. Good food. Your mouth would water before you ever got in the front door. I think it started when we pulled in the driveway! She was always old to me. It's how I remember her. When I look at pictures I can see that she certainly aged during my life. But there is a constant image fixed in my brain when she walks into my thoughts, sometimes invited, sometimes not. It's funny how memories operate. Some come when they are called like an obedient dog. Others intrude like somebody breaking into your house, others won't answer their summons until they slip away completely like a tired man slowly slipping under in deep water. There was never even a trace they were ever there.
One time grandma and I were talking about aging. I was in my 20's. She was normally quite a cheerful woman. She loved to laugh and I can still hear her high pitched laugh when I want to. I do not know if this is due to hearing it whenever we watch old family videos, or if I truly remember it. Even so it is something I hold onto tightly. Something precious. To lose that would be to lose another piece of me.
I do not remember what preceded her comment, but her comment stuck deeply into me.
"When I look into the mirror, I do not know the woman in the mirror. I just see an old lady." She said this with a wistful, almost confused look on her face. As if her mirror was somehow able to trick her in some cruel way. She went on to explain that she did not picture herself this way. She still mostly thought of herself as a young woman.
This seemed a little bit absurd to me. How could you picture yourself other that what you are? How young I was. How naive. Understanding of this is now something I have purchased. This knowledge can only be obtained by longevity on the Earth. It is not something the young can hope to achieve, nor would they even want to. it is not really helpful knowledge.
Still, I took this comment from my grandmother and stored it away. Or perhaps it stored itself away. At times during my life I would wrest it from the place where it had settled in my memory and examine it. Looking at all the different facets of such a statement. Turning it over and over. Wondering what it would feel like. Trying to put myself in that place, finding it impossible to fully comprehend the feeling. Knowing that such a day was coming for me. When you are young there is so much ahead of you. Everything is possible. You are young, strong, healthy and you have time to do explore all the things you want to do.
In the anniversary pictures, the people look so old. Their lives spent. Not much left in front of them. Most of their existence is memory now. There will be few, if any new treasures to store. Yes, yes, there are still moments of joy, but they are now the exception. You can feel life slipping away. You know there just isn't the time anymore. The scariest part? That it isn't a disturbing thought anymore. Where a younger man fights and kicks or just refuses to think about his mortality, you start to welcome it. Waiting for it like the end of a long journey that has taken the full measure of who you are and there is not much left.
You learn to treasure the memories. You still yearn to make more. But now your life is full of the smell of disinfectant, piss and mustiness. There are medicines to be taken, plans to be made, and too often, funerals to attend. Why do you think the elderly love it so much when you come to visit them? It is like a living memory. A distraction from the sameness of so many of our existences. Something new. A new memory formed to join the collection of the ones that have been handled so many times before that they have been worn smooth with use. They are shiny and sharp and not affected by the process of time. For all memories are prone to rot. The wise know this. Even those with the strongest memories can't help but remember the way they want to remember. The way it could have been, should have been. And when you are as old as I am, you start to combine stories at times. Or insert what you have always wanted to say to that old boss. Or taken that chance you didn't take. They warp. Time is like water dripping on a table. Warping and distorting.
And that is the damnable part of all this. With age, so many choose to live in their memories. They float away in them, enjoying reliving them over and over. It is preferable to their present. We have certainly trained ourselves over the last few decades that we just HAVE to be entertained at all times, right? And when you can't read, or hear the TV, and you don't understand what they are talking about anyway; there are the memories waiting, almost seductively, to embrace you. Happily enfolding you into their soft, familiar embrace.
But now... The memories are not content to stay in their places. They have taken on a will of their own. I have always taken pride of my ability to be in control. Not needing help. Not getting sick. In fact, for a man in his 80's, I do remarkably well. Yes, I have been blessed in many ways. I am not unaware of this. When we do something wonderful, or something awe-inspiring or even awful happens to us, it creates a memory. That memory settles into our minds. Some are never called upon again and seem to fade away forever. Do they really? None can tell for sure. For some reason, even mundane, simple things can lodge in our minds, carrying weight and significance without us being readily available to explain why. They are not unwelcome, but they also don't seem to be noteworthy. Yet there they are.
All relationships are based on memory. Friendships are based on the memories of pleasant shared experiences. These are the stones of a relationship. The fun times you have had together. The desire to create more stones, to build the relationship even bigger, to make it more significant. Sad times, shared difficult times, where you are both on the same side, ah, these are the mortar for relationships. A strong wind will blow over a friendship built on happiness, but it takes something monumental to topple a link forged with this kind of bond.
why is he angry again? i think he knows what I did. i must hide. he will know. i don't want him to kno. he will be unhappy with me again. i don't like that. if i am gone for awhile maybe he will forget. just get away. loudness. why must he yell? doesn't help. no. i will be quiet and nod. it will be over soon buddy. it will be over soon. i will promise to be more better next time. i'm sorry daddy. i will try not to cry. i won't be naughty anymore. i sorry. so sorry.
It is happening more frequently now. I still can tell when it happens. It just takes me a little longer each time to know when it happens. I seem to revert to different times in my childhood. As I said earlier, this...slippage, seemed to be such a simple thing at first. Getting up and going into a room and not knowing why you were there. Funny, right? This is a universal experience for anyone over 30.
When does it start to frighten you though? Is it when you are driving and you don't know where you are or why you are even driving in the first place? Or how about when you are in the store and realize you don't remember if this was the store you used to go to when you lived in Kansas? Or the one here in Michigan? Or when you have a sudden rush of panic in that store because you can't find your 4 year old daughter you thought you were just talking to? Is it scary then?
It goes from funny to aggravating. There are the cards on your birthday about forgetting. About getting old. Getting black balloons when you are 40 or 50. So many think that is funny. Cards joking about incontinence and even death. The grim reaper. When does that cease to be humorous? Not many 80 year olds get presents like that, do they? Unless your family has quite the macabre sense of humor. No, this is not funny for most. Death is far too close of a presence in the room for that to cause much laughter. It is easier to joke about what is distant.
Then you start to get on people's nerves. You can see it. You realize you are telling that story again. You swear it is the first time, because you try to be a careful communicator. You only try to tell relevant stories, because you remember when that old person in your life did that to you. You yourself participated in the gentle mocking behind their backs. "Can you believe Dad told the story about the raccoon again???"
And you laugh along. But after awhile you stop laughing. It isn't funny anymore. You can see them slipping away. You can't stop it. You pray, you seek medical help, medicines are prescribed. Despite all this, the slow slide continues unabated.
Now imagine this is happening to you. You laugh with everyone else at first. It IS funny. Silly old grandpa. I'd forget my head if it wasn't attached!
Then they don't laugh with you in the room anymore. They think you don't hear the whispers, but you do. That's when the first trickles of worry enter. the first inklings of the possibility of losing you. The thought that memory could be an enemy. The past becoming quicksand that eventually swallows you up, making you oblivious to the "now" you still desperately want to exist in. Even if it is mundane. For you want to keep your memories under your control. Just like your body and your life.
The next step is the worst. They give you the look. It's a queer look, hard to describe. But it is the feeling that you have just said something very wrong. No, not wrong, something...off. Not fitting. The look in their eyes is one of concern, fear, and most disturbing, immense sadness. And it is directed at you. Oh, it's quick. Always fleeting. The look cannot be sustained. No, that is against the rules. But you know. It happened again. you slipped. It happened again. But you don't remember where you were. And you don't remember what you were supposed to be talking about.
You try so hard to keep it all straight. But it seems like so much. Like somebody has asked you to name every piece of hay in a haystack and gets upset when you can't remember them all. As these episodes occur more and more to me, they last longer. I feel like a man underwater at the end of them. I know I am somewhere where no one else is. At least, no one real. I can see the surface near the end and struggle for it. I emerge and am the only person in the room dripping wet. Dripping with the shards of the receding memory, embarrassment and shame.
I know who I am. I am a compilation of my experiences and thoughts and relationships and desires and dreams. All this and more makes up ME. When is the last time you fought for your life? Ever? I feel like I am in such a battle as that. WHO I AM is slipping away. It feels slippery now. There are times I have it, know that I am grasping it firmly... and then there are the other times. Again, getting far too frequent. I can feel who I am slip away. Out of my control. Even though the present isn't always exactly what I want, it is real, it is now. And I so desperately want to be present in it. Especially when my loved ones are near. The chance to experience the NEW. Another chance to evoke laughter from the mouths of my children. To illicit that certain smile on the face of my daughter. To hear the strong opinion of my son and to be able to engage him in conversation. '
But to see the sorrow in their eyes when they look at me, the embarrassment. I am weak before them and can no longer hide it. I feel like a small child that has just had an accident and isn't old enough to know how to cover it up. I have wet myself and everyone knows it. And I know everyone knows.
What is going to happen to ME? The me that I know? That I have grown comfortable with? What happens when that is gone? Where will I be? Who will I be? When the tenuous cord that ties me to the present finally snaps, do I get to decide which memories I relive? I would guess not. Or is this to be some type of strange collage of past experiences? Or a strange type of purgatory where I relive all the past pains I have tried so hard to forget? If I do have to go through those unwanted memories, is it part of my punishment for banishing them to the cellar of my mind for so long? Is this their chance to get equal time?
Who can tell?
There is one redeeming side of all this. The tenderness. The warmth. The ones who love you the most no longer to seem to get annoyed. I like the warmth of this. it makes me feel good. i am happy. c'mere boy. it's ok. i won't hurt you. i wonder of mom will let me keep you? i sure hope so! i always wanted a dog. lets go. is it ok if we are friends? good. i think we are going to have lots of fun together...
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