It is important to remember today. Not because anything particular happened, but because nothing particular happened.
We woke and drank coffee. Then while I worked in my office, Ralph read. For a while he had stopped reading, and I assumed books, like movies, had become too hard for him to follow. But I seem to have been wrong. Today he picked up Leonardo’s Brain, by Leonard Shlain, about Da Vinci’s genius–not exactly a light romp or what I would suggest to a reader who has trouble remembering a joke by the time he hears the punch line. Ralph is finding the book “fascinating”.
We had lunch and he read some more while I walked with a friend. Now he has gone for a “walk” with the dogs—they walk while he drives beside them in the truck. Soon we’ll have dinner and watch Sunday television.
So, a normal Sunday. Except Ralph’s conversation is sharper today, his attention more focused.
I know better than to believe that Ralph is suddenly “ getting better.” But it feels important to appreciate this moment of respite: A reason to rejoice that while the thread/threat of memory loss has woven itself into the fabric of our lives, it has not yet pulled the warp and woof askew.
Alice in Memoryland 
Thanks for this post! Yes, an ordinary Sunday, uncomplicated in its splendor, is welcome indeed. May you enjoy many more such Sundays!
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Thanks for your comment. I just read it as another Sunday begins. It’s too early to know how the day will go, but I hope yours is lovely.
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Lovely to read and see.
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Thanks. Important to remember the good stuff
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Oh, you are so right! Hang on to those “normal” (special) moments for dear life! And record them in every way that you can. Get a picture of him driving with the dog beside him. Get a picture of him reading. There are so many things I wish I had done. Nancy
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Your words carry so much weight with me. I really am trying to follow your example as a model of grace and resilience. And the good moments are crucial to remember.
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A lovely Sunday to remember indeed. Leonardo’s Brain doesn’t sound like light reading. I couldn’t help but laugh when you write that Ralph forgetsthe start of a joke before the punchline.
I was so sad when dad stopped reading. Fortunately we could prolong things because he had a huge collection of illustrated wildlife and countryside books so we could look at the pictures with him. I now have going on for a thousand books in my attic, hoping the flooring will take the weight until I can sort them.
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My mother, who passed on to all her children a passion for reading, discovered audio books when the printed page became too much for her. When she lost her interesting in even listening, I knew she’d lost her will to live.
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