It’s happening all the time
There are two sides to almost everything and it occurred to me the other day that – in the context of ageing – this applies even to the supposed vicissitudes of a fading memory.
As I get older I find myself not only becoming more forgetful but also being accused more often of being so by those younger than me to the point where I begin to believe them – I guess it comes with the territory!
A year or so ago I was chatting with my father’s carer about the fact that when I joined them at the breakfast table each morning my father would routinely greet me with the observation that I must have set off in the middle of the night to have arrived this early – even when I had been staying with them for several days.
He (the carer) responded that the best way to ‘understand’ my father’s perspective upon life was to think of his brain as a computer.
Every night when he went to sleep, the computer effectively wiped its hard drive clean so that – the next day – it could begin to take on board the details of the present.
Adopting this theory allowed me to cope with many things.
For example, whenever the above scenario occurs, I can either respond to my father “But Dad, I’ve been staying with you since Monday …” or – as the mood takes me – by saying “Yes, I did … the traffic wasn’t too bad” (and it doesn’t matter a hill of beans which of those two I choose).
Similar applies whenever he asks – as if in the present – about the whereabouts of my mother, or indeed his.
I can either tell the truth [i.e. that the one died twelve years ago and the other forty-two] or alternatively respond, for example, that she has just gone out to the shops and will be back in about half an hour.
Either answer will do, because within half an hour he will have forgotten he ever asked the question.
In actual fact, whenever he does ask either of those questions, I make a split-second decision which of those ways I will reply.
As a close family member, of course, one issue to consider is whether “telling the truth” will cause hurt or pain to my father (which one doesn’t particularly wish to inflict) – or whether “telling him a complete lie” (as a means of dealing with the situation) would be in some way disrespectful to him, or indeed to those one is telling the lie about.
A carer’s advice would no doubt be not to worry.
When a geriatric gets beyond a certain point his or her ability to interact with others, or retain any new information at all, tends to become variable for all sorts of reasons, including the time of day, how sleepy they are, and possibly even what they’ve recently consumed in the way of food and drink, if any.
In my own case, I have reached the stage where I am quite used to my kids reminding me of past facts or incidents and events that involved me – either as an active participant or merely an observer – of which I retain absolutely zip recall of my own.
When these are brought up in conversation – and apparently detail something that I did or said that was funny, stupid, outrageous or remarkable – similarly, I can either respond by telling the truth (i.e. that not only do I not remember the incident described, but – because I don’t – I absolutely deny it happened, if only because surely, if it was so bloody memorable, I would have remembered it to this day) or, alternatively, I can meekly keep quiet, pretend I recall the episode being talked about (and hopefully then bask in the reflected glory of my act or indeed the humour of my alleged quip, whichever it was).
After all, you cannot be everywhere all the time and, whenever people who know you well or otherwise gather together, there’s at least a chance that your name will come up in conversation and then only the Good Lord knows what anecdotes or opinions about you may get aired ‘behind your back’ … and which you’ll never get the opportunity to challenge, deny or admit!
It’s called Life.
