As I continue to interview family members and write my "Mema stories," I have begun to think more and more about the idea of self. And as if that wasn't heavy enough, I began reading Before I Forget, the memoir of celebrity chef, restaurateur, and Alzheimer's patient B. Smith.
I didn't get through the first chapter before tears blurred my vision.
OK, I didn't get past the first page.
OK, I only made it to the second sentence.
"I'm still myself."
And there you have it. She's still herself. Mema was still herself. Except that she wasn't.
Surely our memories shape who we are in one way or another. Certain aspects of a personality may be innate, maybe even genetic. But I have to believe that my experiences have shaped me. So the question remains. Are the memories of those experiences essential to remaining or maintaining who I am?
Smith describes the "pang" you feel in the pit of your stomach when you first hear the news that your mother or father has died. She feels that pang again every time she remembers. Every time. Because in her reality it is entirely possible to forget that your parents are dead. And then something reminds her or someone tells her and she feels the pang. Again. And mourns them. Again.
I cannot imagine that kind of pain.
Her husband describes their breakfast conversation by saying, "She doesn't know how to get from sentence A to sentence C or D, so after a moment, she lapses into silence." This woman, once a supermodel, celebrity chef, restaurant owner, home goods designer and all around entrepreneur, lapses into silence.
This disease takes more than memories. It seems to take the essence of a person. It takes their self. It takes them each at different rates, but it takes them. And then family members are left saying things like, "She's not the woman I once knew." Or "That's not my dad. My dad is gone," while their loved one's physical self remains intact. There but not there. Her but someone else.
I have much more to say on this topic. I'll come back to it here, I'm sure. But for now, I'll return to reading B's story and continue writing Mema's story and be sad for the stories forgotten. Sad for those who forgot them. And maybe even sadder for those who had to watch.
"Perhaps it will seem of little comfort to them, but the fact is, I have never been more optimistic about the prospect of treating this disease. It will take time - too much time. Heartbreaking time. But we will get there. Of that, I have no doubt."
This line is taken from the book's forward, written by a medical doctor. An optimistic doctor. Stand strong, Dr. Tanzi. I love that you have no doubt.
Now back to Eminem. Maybe he has more to do with this post than the clever title. Go ahead, give him a listen. Listen through a new lens.
Lose Yourself
"You better lose yourself in the music, the moment
You own it, you better never let it go
You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This opportunity comes once in a lifetime"
He's right. That moment? That memory? You own it.
Until you have to let it go.
Until you lose yourself.
