I recently finished reading “Still Alice” by Lisa Genova. It is a story of a woman who is a professor at Harvard and is diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s disease. Written from her point of view, you can see how she progressively gets worse until she can no longer recognize her family and can’t even remember where the bathroom is in their house. Although terribly sad, the book is a page turner. I recommend it highly.

Naturally, I started comparing her forgetfulness with my own. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked, with purpose, to the basement or the pantry and when I got there, I had no idea what I came for. Frustrated, I tried to remember what I was doing before I got there and would end up turning around. The minute I got back to where I was, I would roll my eyes and head back to the basement or pantry, my memory refreshed. Could I have early onset Alzheimers, too?

I was talking about this at my son’s basketball game this weekend with some other moms. These two ladies both have three kids, like me, and both work outside of the home. They agreed that they had these moments of forgetfulness, too and assured me that I was not losing my mind. One mom said that because we have some much going on in our lives, we are always thinking about the next thing and never live in the moment. She is right. I found myself looking for a scrap piece of paper during church because something came to mind that I had to do this week. If I don’t write it down – poof! – it is gone.

It’s hard to remember anything at all. Although I think my kids are pretty organized and self motivating, I end up reminding them to do things all the time. While in route to do something myself, I am usually asked to find something, help with something, break up a fight, let out the poor dog at the back door who is crossing her legs and shut off TVs and lights as I go. It is no wonder I forget things.

Over the weekend, I gave my cat his meds. They need to be refrigerated, so I pulled them out and brought them upstairs where the cat was hanging out on my bed. I brought him into the master bath to avoid getting it on my bed and gave him the meds. I have no idea what happened after that. The next morning, I went to the fridge to get his meds again. They weren’t in there. I searched the whole fridge, the garage fridge and the master bath and bedroom. No meds in sight. I asked my husband and kids if they saw it. No, it just disappeared. My daughter suggested that the cat hid it. Possibly. Being a Saturday, my vet was closed so I couldn’t get another bottle. I decided to worry about it later. Hours later, while going through the house cleaning up, I found the bottle in the powder room. I guess I stopped off there the night before. Thankfully, I called my pharmacist friend and asked if the meds were still good. She assured me that they were fine. We were back in business.

I can only blame my family and my crazy life style for so long. They will get older, taking their crazy schedules with them when they leave. Me and What’s-His-Name will be older, too. Who will we blame the forgetfulness on then?