
Goldfish memory. That’s what I seem to have these days. Goldfish memory.
They say goldfish do not get bored in their tiny goldfish bowls, swimming around and around all day, because they have a memory span of only 3 seconds. “They” being scientists, sociologists and such.
I was in the Alzheimer’s ward of a retirement home recently, visiting my sister’s godmother. Whether she knew who were or not was unclear. We had visited several times before when her memory was better.
She would greet us happily however and greet us with “Hello! How are you! How have you been?”
Perhaps this was her standard greeting to everyone. Soon she would tell us how happy she was, that she was doing fine. At some point she would tell us how much she loved Santa Fe, which where her home for many years had been, before living in the nursing home.
But that was about as much now as we would get from her. After a few minutes, she’d almost greet us again; as if we just arrived there and then tell us how she was doing, ending on how much she loved Santa Fe.
It was sad to watch and almost painful, if she hadn’t been so happy. She was like the goldfish in the bowl, happily swimming in circles, coming back to the same spot with no memory of being there before. Goldfish memory.
There were many others in the ward with more devastating types of memory loss and moods dark and grim. It wasn’t a happy place. To know there are cures out there that aren’t being allowed must be frustrating to so many.
Thankfully for us, my sister’s godmother was happy at almost ninety.
But I was planning on making a point with my own memory. Something about…. oh rats, there is goes again. I don’t remember.
Ah well, goldfish memory. I’m sure I’ll think of it soon.