Exasperated, I called out to my husband in our bedroom upstairs, “Are my glasses up there?”
“No.” He paused. “I can’t see them anywhere.”
“Really? Look on my table.”
“Nope. Not there.”
With a humph, I continued my search through the three rooms on the bottom floor of our small house. Frantically, I thought, Now where did I put them…I know I had them on when I drove home. Where are they? I paced throughout the rooms repeatedly, and then voila! I found them in an obscure place, on the window sill, where I couldn’t remember ever placing them. I snatched them up, “Oh Thank You Lord!” and speculated about my sanity.
As I stood in the Living Room the next morning, I inquired of my husband. “Honey, have you seen my car keys?
He patted the front pockets of his blue jeans as he treaded down the stairs. “Nope. I don’t have em.”
“Really… are you sure?”
He sighed. “Check my pants pockets hanging behind the door in my office. If they’re not there, I don’t have em.”
I checked. “No, they’re not there. Can you please help me find them? I gotta be outta here in five minutes.”
“Did you look in the refrigerator?”
I scoffed. “No, not yet, but maybe I should try there next.”
After more aggravation, I eventually found the keys at the bottom of my purse, where I had searched before so diligently, or so I thought.
“So, you ready to go?” he asked cheerfully. “Got your keys?”
"Yep" I said with relief.
“Got your cell phone?”
“Yep.” I clutched my purse with confidence.
His expression changed to doubt as he looked down at the bottom of the wall behind me. “I don’t think your phone is in your purse.”
I followed his eyes to my phone lying on the floor, plugged into the outlet in the the wall. “Oops, I guess not.” I quickly moved to unplug it, and snickered with embarrassment as I dropped it in my purse. “Now it is!” I sang.
“Good. Now make sure your ringer is on in case I need to call you.”
“Okay, I will.” I started out the door.
“And call me when you leave there so I’ll know when to have lunch ready.”
“Will do.” I smiled and shut the door.
After a longer day than usual at the pregnancy clinic, I started my drive back home, with thoughts and prayers for clients I had seen that day wandering through my mind.
When I arrived back home, Paul seemed surprised. “Oh, you’re home. I thought you were going to call me when you left.”
“Oh, you’re right. I was suppose to call you, wasn’t I? I guess I forgot. Sorry ‘bout that.”
“Yeah, and I tried calling YOU, but didn’t get an answer...the ringer must be off.”
“You tried to call me?” I pulled the phone from my purse to investigate. “Yep, the ringer is off. Sorry. I forgot to turn it on.”
It was another typical day of forgetfulness...
Uncertainty is now my constant companion these days as I try to remember anything. I am fifty-three and challenged to recall events that happen on any day, when trying to reflect on them that night. And don’t ask me what I did yesterday, or any time before that, because it will take so long - to the point of embarrassment - before I‘d remember. When people casually ask, “So what have you been up to?” I now consider it a trick question. I have to stop and think. Then slowly, yes, ever so slowly, memories creep to the surface of awareness. Sometimes I am tempted to make something up so I don’t have to work so hard at accessing my failing memory. Then, I mentally scramble to give a brief rundown on current events in my life, hoping they won’t ask for any details.
However, with a sigh of relief, I have now learned that I am not losing my mind after all. I am merely experiencing my right-of-passage… into the mysterious realm of Menopause, my God-given excuse for confusion, and my wit’s end.
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