Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
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In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampus—the part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didn’t mean harmless. Surgery removed the tumor, and three days later I opened my eyes to a new reality. I could walk, I could talk, but when I looked at my wife, her name was gone. I called her Precious—the only word I could find. A failure of memory, yet perhaps the truest name of all. Recovery has been less cure than re-calibration. Memory gaps are frequent. Conversations vanish. I had to relearn how to write, letter by halting letter. My days are scaffold by alarms, notes, and calendars. When people ask how I am, I don’t list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, “Seven Degrees Left of Center.” It’s not an answer—it’s who I’ve become. |
| How long have you sat and looked at your keyboard without touching a key? Or, holding your favorite pen without scribbling a word? Well, you are not alone. Writer's block happens to all of us. That may not always be the case. Sometimes, there is just nothing to say. So, my blog entry is simply to admit that I have nothing to say, and that is okay. Okay, I wrote something. That is a spark to what can happen next. Just admitting at that moment in time was an empty thought. I started a spark to hit the keyboard a few more times. It added to a simple idea that transformed into a few sentences, and now writing is happening. Should it be shared? I think so. If I write nothing else today, I have admitted it. Writing something is better than staring at a blank canvas. You will have some words written. Hence, writing has occurred. Click the like if you agree. |