By: Rachel Thompson
Updated: Dec. 18, 2015
Originally Published: Aug. 7, 2015
As I age, I’ve come to accept the reality that my memory might start to fade, but I never anticipated it would happen so rapidly. When those moments of forgetfulness arrived, I imagined I’d lose the traumatic memories first, gradually erasing trivial details like phone numbers and past addresses. Instead, I find myself asking my kids the same questions repeatedly, unable to recall their answers, as my mind drifts back to my never-ending to-do list. It got to the point where I couldn’t remember a phone number long enough to jot it down after looking it up. My children joked—at least I hope they were joking—about safety pinning my name and phone number inside my jacket so a kind stranger could help me find my way home when I inevitably forgot where I was headed.
To manage my declining memory, I started carrying a small voice recorder, capturing fleeting thoughts like “spinach,” “dry cleaner,” or “Target.” This tool was somewhat helpful, but it also served as a stark reminder of how poor my memory had become. One day, while driving my son to a school event, I glanced back and noticed his shirt sleeves were too short. I asked him to remind me to buy him new clothes once we got home. He suggested, “Why don’t you record that?” Smart kid. I repeated my reminder into the recorder.
Moments later, at a red light, I glanced in the mirror and realized his pants were also too short. I asked him again to remind me about the clothes. “You just told me that 10 seconds ago!” he exclaimed. Kids always insist they’ve shared something important, like a bad report card, so I hesitated to believe him. He wisely suggested I play back my last message. What I heard was alarming; only about 15 seconds had passed, and I had already forgotten my own thought.
My memory issues made me worry I was showing early signs of Alzheimer’s. I visited my doctor, who inquired whether I was forgetting short-term or long-term information. “Short-term,” I told her. “Information just slips right through me.” She reassured me, using her go-to phrase: “At your age, that’s completely normal.” But I don’t see myself as “that age,” which always feels a decade away.
I wasn’t alone in my struggles; many friends were experiencing similar lapses. Our minds were cluttered with our children’s schedules, school project details, RSVP deadlines, and let’s not forget dinner plans. I often leave the grocery store without the one essential item on my list—at least 50% of the time. One friend resorted to stashing notes in her bra, pulling them out whenever she needed to remember something while shopping. Another opted for a more effective method: jotting reminders on the back of her hand—the ultimate makeshift planner.
In an effort to cope, I began an informal contest among my friends, tallying our most “forgetful” moments. I was the reigning champion until one friend confessed she had used her car’s remote to call the elevator at work.
What can you do but laugh and find a new perspective? My erratic memory has made me an excellent confidant for others, and I’ve relished the joy of rereading beloved books, often not recognizing the plot until I’m well into them.
Ultimately, I decided to embrace my memory mishaps rather than hide from them. I even ordered a personalized license plate that reads, “IFORGOT.” This has proven invaluable when I accidentally drove onto a military base or took a wrong turn down a one-way street. It also makes perfect sense when I’m wandering a large parking lot, trying to locate my car, and a good Samaritan sees my plate.
If you’re also navigating the challenges of memory, you might find helpful information in this blog post. And for those considering home insemination, check out this reputable retailer for at-home insemination kits. You can also gain valuable insights from the CDC’s resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, embracing the quirks of memory loss can lighten the load, and sharing these experiences with friends can lead to laughter and camaraderie amid the chaos of parenting.
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