Memory Decay

My Beloved and I have just returned from a belated Valentine's sojourn to Charleston, SC.  I've been there twice for business in the last 5-7 the years, both times in February when the camellias are in bloom and everything is heavy with spanish moss and romance.  I wanted to share that with him, so we cashed in some travel points and got away for three days.

It was bliss, as is every moment spent with my true love.

It was also deeply, deeply disturbing because, by the second day, I realized that I have never been to Charleston, SC.

When looking at hotel options when we planned the trip, I showed My Beloved photos of the hotel where I stayed the second time I was there, but recommended we find a location closer to the Hyatt I stayed in the first time because it was closer to the historic homes.  I recommended we not linger along the waterfront because I had found it too touristy and commercial.  I told My Beloved that I looked forward to showing him the fountain where I spent so much time collecting potential names for my niece, who was due in a few months, from the bricks engraved with the names of donors who paid for the fountain's restoration.

It was this fountain I was trying to find when I realized that I was in the wrong city.  It was terrifying, frankly.  This was not on the order of misplacing my keys or forgetting my high school mascot.  This was dangerously like getting lost and not knowing how to find my way home.  In fact, that was exactly what it was.  This was a "no fooling" kind of memory loss.

At first, I was panicky with disbelief that I am experiencing failures of this magnitude already while still 30-something.  Then, I was bereft by the aplomb with which My Beloved accepted this lapse and the brief glimpse of what lies ahead for us.  Or, more specifically, what lies ahead for him.

This led to a sobering and decidedly un-romantic discussion about end of life decisions over fried pickles and green tomatoes.  We had discussed this before, but more in terms of options when we're incapacitated due to general frailty and weakness, not completely physically viable but mentally incapacitated.

My uncle just moved his MIL into a full-time care facility due to her Alzheimer's.  She is only 64.  I can be glib and joke that I'll be looking for homes for the under 50 crowd, but the truth is I am reeling a little bit.  The natural impulse is to do "something"...but there is nothing that can be done for this, aside from continuing to blog and record as much as I can.  I feel like this is a signal that we have crossed the rubricon from general to specific and that Plans need to be made like buying in to long-term health insurance or notarizing an advance directive.  In the days to come, it will be this story I relate when asked "how long have you noticed these symptoms?" It feels much like the beginning of my ending.  Granted, its (I hope!) a long novel, but, well, welcome to Chapter 1.