Forget me not

I did a bit of writing the other day. Something I used to do all the time and have slowly stopped, sadly. I just felt inspired by something that has crept it's way into my life and my family's life and has just become normal.

The problem with living with a problem is that you tend to slowly forget that life used to be quite different. I started to think about what if it was me, or my husband who slowly started to forget. All our memories, everything we've done and shared in life just simply forgotten. When I actually started to think about it, I felt so compelled to write. Not just a factual piece about two people I love very much and who are facing a challenging life now, but rather seeing who they are now with the contrast of who they used to be. Names have been changed incase I ever use this piece in anything, but those who know me and my family will recognise the characters.

Here's a tribute to two very special people; one who has forgotten so much and the other who has remembered, that little bit in the wedding vows that we ofetn don't think about "for better or for worse, in sickness and in health"...

FORGET ME NOT

Michael had been a hero once. A champion. People had shouted his name from expensive seats, cheering him on. Strangers would stop him in the street for autographs or just a short conversation with a legend. Hard work and sacrifice was the foundation to Michael’s life, his motto. His literal blood, sweat and tears now represented by some dusty trophies in a cardboard box and an old book of newspaper clippings from earlier times.

Dorothy was the typical young girl, swept off her feet by the attention and affections of a famous boxer. She was always in the background, playing the role of supportive wife, devoted mother and hard worker, never in the limelight but always in the background holding things together. She had gotten lucky after all. Yes Michael has his quirks but he was a God-fearing, solid, family man, not to mention famous which obviously meant money wasn’t an issue.
Sure Dorothy had to put up with rigorous training routines. This meant often coming home to Michael sitting in his home-made contraption consisting of a large enough box for him to sit up in, strong lights and heaters; this would aid him in sweating out excess water so his weight would come down in time for weigh in’s before big matches. Not even tea-time was normal in their house. Michael’s ¼ cup of tea would be slurped off a spoon to make it last longer in trying to avoid picking up any weight, even a cup of tea.
“I don’t mean to interrupt Dorothy, but when is tea time?” Dorothy raised her eyes from doing her crossword but not her head, “are you serious? You just had a cup of tea 10 minutes ago!” She failed to hide annoyance from her voice. Not that it was any different from any conversation they had these days. Words seemed flow purely out of exhaustion. Michael looked shocked, “I most certainly did not have tea ten minutes ago! It was ages ago. I’ll make some more.” He started to rise from his chair but Dorothy new the result of Michael’s tea making. If he miraculously got the sequence right then he was sure to spill it all the way down the passage. “Sit down please Michael,” she sighed, “I will make some in a minute”. “O ok only if its no trouble.” He sat back down. Dorothy added another word into some blank boxes wishing it was only that easy to fill ‘something’ like Michael’s head with information that would be retained.
Now Dorothy was the hero. She couldn’t complain about her life. It had been good. Not many people had a car before they were twenty back in their day; they did. And she couldn’t forget the honeymoon of a lifetime they had shared so many years ago. What adventures they had, travelling around the world on a motorbike. Sure it meant their trip was full of experiences like staying in a tent on the side of the road in Europe and running out of petrol in the middle of rural Africa, but it had been an unforgettable adventure, mirroring very much the rest of their life.
For the third time that morning Dorothy took her husband a cup of tea and gave the same instructions, “Please don’t mess on the couch Michael. Hold it steady.” “O my, is this for me? Thank you, thank you very much.” Michael said, his old, weathered hands that boasted many scars and bulging, oversized knuckles from the boxing clasped the delicate tea cup as he struggled to steady it and bring it to the table next to him. “Now tell me Dorothy, when are we going home?” he said bringing the cup to his lips and taking a drink, listening intently to what his wife would say. “I have told you already Michael, we are home. We live here.” Michael looked confused and then his expression changed to resolve, Dorothy new what was coming next. “No, no. We have to go home. I mean home to South Africa. If we don’t go soon we will be late for my appointments, people are relying on me to fix their teeth.” A painful flashback of earlier days made it hard for Dorothy to dismiss his vivid memories of the past without remembering herself.
She thought about the past often, even longed for it again sometimes. The difference between Michael and herself though, was that the past was Michael’s reality, all that was real to him. His brain acted like a sieve for any knowledge of current events he had been involved in. “Michael we live here now, in New Zealand. We immigrated with the family 5 years ago. We sold your dentist technician business decades ago.” Dorothy was exasperated. Four years of repeating the same story to the man who once new everything. “ No, no. I’m not living in New Zealand! I have to get back to South Africa, I have people waiting for me.” Michael looked a bit bewildered but stuck to his story. He had clients waiting in the past, waiting for him to come fix their dentures. Dorothy new Michael was just longing for something familiar. The sad thing was, when they went back to South Africa two years ago, he didn’t recongnise anything. Even the familiar was now new territory, well in his mind anyway.
Michael tired Dorothy out with endless, senseless arguments about non-existent things, but she did feel extremely sorry for him. His life now was a myriad of questions. From his moment of waking up in the morning until the asking if he was allowed to go to bed started from around 5pm at night. The reality of the darkness Michael was living in was overwhelming to think about, but that pity for him was often overshadowed with Dorothy’s exhaustion and frustration.
What is someone if they don’t have memories? They are the same person on the outside, in fact Michael was still surprisingly fit and healthy. Mentally though, memories of things they had shared and even of who he was, had vanished like sand that had slipped through an hourglass, never to be returned, leaving everyone else just waiting for the day when the sand is finished falling, the day the time is up. The hard thing for Dorothy to face, is what else is there to lose? Her husband, the strong, determined, successful, self-sufficient, not to mention good-looking, man was no more. All that was left now was a reminder of what was. Sort of like a photograph. An image of something that was once there but really isn’t there anymore at all.
Michael stared blankly at the TV screen for the remainder of the morning breakfast show. Dorothy filled in a few more words in her crossword. The two sat in quiet company of the TV presenters who now smiled and shared a joke, their jovial voices provided a nice alternative to the usual conversation in the room. “Well that’s all from us,” said a smiling, pleasant looking woman, “we’ll see you tomorrow new Zealand. Have a great day.” And the credits rolled, the camera lingering a while on the pair of presenters who continued to talk and shuffle papers.
“Should I make a cup of tea then Dorothy?”