Forgetting a drawer left open--not just one but three
And pajamas on the floor (and shoes and jeans and old shirts)
Forgetting tissues in a pocket that end up torn and scattered in the dryer and
Forgetting to shave today, yesterday and the day before
What day is it today?
And remembering our trips in the wrong order and appointments too
Forgetting how to use the printer (“It just worked yesterday!” You said.)
And how to pay a bill or download a statement
Forgetting to take this morning’s medications
And to put the milk back in the frig
Forgetting to ask about my bad dream
Or to hug me when you found me in tears
Forgetting to look at the sunset
Or the breeze moving the leaves or a single butterfly out of reach
Forgetting forgetting forgetting....
Forgetting, too, that we have other stories
And that cancer isn’t the only one
That living isn’t sleeping all day
And forcing yourself to eat
Forgetting is happening and I am remembering now
That maybe you don’t realize how much you’ve forgotten
Like when the doctor said “this is the last treatment”
This forgetting--is it possible that it is a gift?
I am collecting what you forget
And sometimes it’s too much

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Beautifully written. So moving. Tears. Thank you for your blog.