Forgetting One's life.

 

A life well lived, a life of goodness and kindness, faith in something greater than yourself and driven to learn, then, well, is a calling. As a child, I dreamt of becoming a monk, giving myself to God and study.

As I developed into puberty and later, adolescence, my sex-drive clouded any dreams of becoming a priest.

Sex was a sin unless you were married; I committed this sin, too many times.

As an adult, somewhat an old man now, my views have changed.

What makes me happy is the joy in some one's eyes; two people in-love, holding hands and that indescribable energy that emanates around them.

I think, " Love is Real and very close to God."

The light is pure and bright...

I grew up to believe that there are Good people on this planet. Women and men who go out of their way to help someone in need.

This belief makes my life worth living.

We live on a very strange planet.

Why would a man devoted to his family and a minister of a church, who only preached the value of kindness, develop a devastating disease that makes one lose their memory? This disease aggressively pushes the memory of your life OUT, to the extent of forgetting your family, one's son, one's wife, who you are...!

For the last week, my mind was constantly on my ex-brother-in law's father, a Minister of a church. He had been diagnosed with this particular disease four years ago; a quiet conversation between his son and I some years ago , he said, "I'll know it will only get worse and everyday I pray for the guts to deal with him."

I tried to contact the Uncle of my son, to no avail.

I found the Minster's number and I made the call.

Surprisingly, he answered.

The man is Scottish, thus, because of his accent, I knew I was talking to the right man.

"My name is Craig, your old grandchild's' uncle!

"Who?"

"Remember I came to your church one time and listened to your sermon about love and kindness."

Silence.

In his thick Scottish accent, he said, "No, I do not remember you."

"I know it is you. You have a son named, Paul."

Silence- at least 15 seconds...

"No, I do not have a son named, Paul."

The poor man's mind was gone.

"I'm sorry I bothered you, sir."

"That's okay", he said,

"It's nice to hear a friendly voice." he said.

Then he hung-up the phone.

I have to admit, I cried after the phone call.

To have lived a life devoted to helping others' to strive to become a good person, to then have one's memory taken away is... cruel.

Life is a beautiful and a cruel mystery, yet somehow in the deepest recesses of my memory, we are meant to forget.