Coming to grips with reality (08/15/07)

Was it reassuring or depressing?

That's hard to say.

It was probably both simultaneously.

We were having dinner with some good friends, and the conversation had taken the usual number of turns.

Over the years, we've talked about our kids, about our parents, about global politics and local politics, about food, about music, about books, about the community, about art, about travel, about life's choices, and more.

Inevitably, it seems, we also end up talking about what life is like when you're in the neighborhood of the mid-point. Some of us are just arriving there, others have passed it.

The group ranges in age from the 40s to the very early 60s.

So when one of us raised the topic of having trouble remembering things, we all rose to the occasion like moths to a flame.

"Names are the worst," somebody said.

And, at once, I was reassured. These days, it's not at all unusual for me to have to scour through some mental Rolodex to put the right name to the right face.

An event like the Jay County Fair can be a challenge to those of us in the name-forgetting phase of human deterioration. You encounter a face and know you should know the name, but instead you draw a complete blank.

Jennifer? No, that's not it. Susan? Barbara? No. No.

And then some tumbler clicks in the back of the brain, and you hear yourself saying, "How have you been, Diana? Good to see you."

And you've passed another tiny, terrifying test.

But there are more to come.

You're telling a story, a little anecdote you've told a hundred times, one you have no trouble remembering.

Then, for some reason, the name of one of the people involved in the story drops out of reach, falls down some abyss in your brain.

Last week, while interviewing Sue Ann and Bruce McLaughlin about their trip to Belarus to attend a foreign student's wedding, I found I was able to summon up only one of the names of two friends of mine in Grodno, where the wedding was held.

I remember Pavel and I clearly remember his girlfriend - the three of us shared a bottle of wine not far from where the McLaughlins went to the wedding - but for the life of me I can't remember Pavel's girlfriend's name.

No, wait. It just came to me. The tumblers clicked, and the name came back as I was writing this column. It was several days late, but it did come back. (Just for the record, it was Irina.)

At any rate, while it was reassuring to learn I'm not the only 50-something running into this phenomenon. It was also a little depressing as well.

Because, barring some sort of new advance in medical science, that sort of spotty memory is going to get worse over the years rather than getting better. That's the reality of aging.

And as to who raised the topic at the dinner table in the first place, well, I forget.[[In-content Ad]]