Every time I start to blog, do you know the first thing I do? I look at my past blogs to make sure that the thoughts running around in my head that are about to spill upon this virtual page have not already been shared in a previous blog. I really shouldn't stress about it - it's not like my 'followers' check to see if I've written about something in particular before. My fear is that you may have been touched, or you may have a better memory than I (a very likely scenario), and remember some other instance of my lamenting about my kids or my parents or the state of being a mom and working... Today I decided to write about that fear. To prod it and poke it and explore it. I believe at the root of the fear of repeating myself is the fear that I will develop, am developing, am beginning to suffer from the early stages of, will probably get, Alzheimer's. I don't mean the funny, haha we are old kind. I mean the real thing. Odds are it will happen to me, either Alzheimer's or dementia, or some odd combination of both that seem to afflict my father. Odds are that it's hereditary, that my brain will harden as I age like my father's has. That the connections, weak to begin with (not joking - I have an awful memory - my childhood is like a dream I had, and if I remember your name or how we know each other when we meet again it will be amazing) are crumbling. I can almost feel it happening.
I find my brain searching for the connections, the path back to a particular memory, fact, word or task that I know I know. Sometimes it comes back to me and other times it doesn't. I know that our prime is truly our early 20's and it's all downhill, so to say, from there. But this is different. It's like whole pieces of my life are gone sometimes. I'm blessed to have a husband with a very good memory but cursed with lack of language to guide me back to shared memories smoothly. I'm lucky to live in a time when digital memories abound, and I am able to keep up with many people from all phases of my life, keeping memories alive through them.
My doctor says my fears are baseless; that the disease isn't necessarily inherited. She says that women have so very much on and in their minds that the files get full, their cups run over, and memories are lost due to the sheer volume of what we try to do and remember. I know that I have seven people to help, three to four households who count on me for bill paying and doctor visits, and social coordination. Two of the people in my circle of family are becoming more independent every second, but they are still on my mind, I still worry, advise, keep track of, and assist. I love being needed, but perhaps my doctor is right. My job (the one they pay me to do) entails being concerned about 26 small human beings and their emotional and educational needs (and includes their 52 or so parents in this circle of concern). Add them to my own family, and you know, the more I think about it the more I believe my doctor is a wise woman.
Recently I have been trying (I have some control issues, I admit) to do what some might call "Let go and let God". For me I am opening myself up to the possibilities of things not that I can see, but those that I feel and believe. I am letting go of worry and concern and planning and anticipation. I have read a wonderful book recently that has opened a new world for me, one that includes guardian angels and the growth of my soul in the big picture of my life and the lives of those around me. It came into my life through a good friend, actually two who recommended it to me the same week, but it has been around for a long time - Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian L. Weiss. Pick it up and make it all the way through. It's not what it appears to be, or at least it was different than I thought it would be.
