Some forgetting I’d be just as pleased if I couldn’t remember

When I began this website more than two years ago, I said my purpose was to keep a chronicle so I could “remember the forgetting.”

It was a nice turn of phrase. I liked combining two words with opposite meanings in the same sentence. But looking back now, I realize I was naïve, if not downright ignorant. I had no idea what that forgetting would include.

And even with all the forgetting I’ve remembered in the many months since then, I figure I’m still ignorant. I see myself demonstrating a tendency typical of many: I act as if the way things are is the way they’ll be. I know better, but I’m still taken aback to place yet another item on my list of things Evelyn has forgotten. And I don’t want to think about what may go on that list in another year.

Challenging visits

A couple of incidents in the last few weeks have prompted me to think afresh about all of this. Each revolved around visits with Evelyn at her new home in the memory care center.

Our daughter, her husband, and his young adult daughter visited Evelyn August 24. My son and his 7-year-old son were here August 29. Byron and Katie Cartwright, friends with whom we’ve shared life for more than 50 years, visited from their home in Alabama September 5.

When my daughter was here, Evelyn stayed engrossed in herself: studying the magazine in front of her or standing precariously from her wheelchair while I held her firmly on her feet. She was determined to try to walk, so I helped her take halting steps around the lovely, roofed patio where we sat to enjoy the outside. That was the major activity of the day: Evelyn faltered while we talked among ourselves.

When my son was here, Evelyn seemed to hardly notice. Her care center was having a picnic, and my son and I were busy helping her eat the giant bratwurst I finally cut into pieces and fed her with a fork.

An administrator at her home had suggested he and I play a game of Uno with the grade-schooler while she sat at the table and watched. So, after the meal, we played, but she hardly looked up from the book in front of her.

It seems clear that she doesn’t recognize any of her family as those she’s loved more dearly than anyone else. She’s forgotten who we are.

One warm moment

It was a little different with Byron and Katie, at least for one moment. When we arrived, I said, “Look! Evelyn! Byron and Katie are here!” She glanced up and broke into a wide smile with bright eyes as each of them bent to hug her. For most of the rest of our visit, she stayed engrossed in whatever we had given her to read, but the warmth of that greeting will stay with us for some time.

But then we discovered something else forgotten. I handed my phone to another visiting caregiver to take a group picture. “Smile!” we said. Again and again we said it, and Evelyn seemed to be trying. But she shaped her mouth in a strange circle nothing like a smile. It seemed she had forgotten how. I’ll not be sharing those pictures.

I might have been told that Alzheimer’s patients eventually will seem not to know their spouse or children or friends. But I certainly wasn’t thinking about that when I boldly wrote I want to “remember the forgetting.”

And I never would have expected that one day Evelyn would forget how to smile.

One day later

I thought about that a couple days till I could get back to visit her again. Seeing her smile has been one of my most consistent pleasures, even as she’s failed in other ways. But now I realized that for some time she hadn’t been smiling as readily as I remembered.

Would I ever see her smile again? When was the last time I had asked her to smile and her face had brightened with beauty I’ve been admiring since long before I married her?

I decided not to give up. On my next visit, I asked Evelyn to smile as I held up my camera. She hesitated at first, and then . . . and then she smiled!

September 7, 2024

Never mind the forgetting. It’s the remembering I want to remember this week. After I thought she had forgotten forever, she remembered how to smile.

Someday, when it’s been weeks since I’ve seen a smile, I want to look again at this picture. There she is, still lovely despite all she’s suffered, still smiling despite all she’s forgotten. I’ll gaze at this picture with gratitude for all she’s meant to so many.

This picture, that smile, I want always to remember.