I lost one of my pills dockets the other day. I also lost the ribbons which denote which is the front and not the back of my bag. I’ve lost so many things.
I did not lose my parents. My mum died. My dad died. That’s not the same as losing but it is a loss. A loss that I grieve for. Particularly on my youngest nephew’s birthday which is the same date as the anniversary of my dad’s death – 17 February.
It took a long time for me to be able to say my mum or my dad is dead. It sounded so final. People would offer condolences for my loss but I always thought – she/he’s not lost. I know exactly where she/he is, or rather I know exactly where both my mum and my dad are buried. Where they are now is perhaps different. They remain in my heart and in my thoughts. Especially when I lose things or things seem to disappear or mechanical/electrical things go wrong. I think my mum or dad are playing tricks on me. They’re reminding me to think of them. And I do.
What else have I lost? Well, I’ve lost my ability to remember things. My ability to remember my diary. I used to be able to keep a whole tour schedule in my brain as well as having it written down. I’ve lost my sense of spatial awareness and geographical awareness so I don’t remember routes. I will arrive somewhere and, when I come to leave, I can’t remember whether I turned left or right to get in and therefore whether I should turn right or left to get out.
I hate losing things but I’m not losing my sense of humour. I’m still remembering that there’s more to life than little things and I’m just going to carry on as long as I can. I’ve not totally lost the plot. Now, which way do I go from here?