Memory loss runs in my family. Knowing this makes me wonder what my future will hold and whether I will find myself slowly forgetting all the wonders of words and language which I love.
Alzheimer’s and dementia are cruel diseases. They take away not only memories and bonds between people, but in the end the people themselves. Their ability to be who they are is lost in a kind of confusion and eventually absence.
I might be lucky and keep my ability to write until way into my elder years, and it’s quite possible I won’t develop dementia at all, but I’ll admit that it scares me. Scares me a lot more than the other likely affliction – the one that runs through the other side of the family – which is early on-set rheumatoid arthritis.
That too would make writing hard, but it wouldn’t steal away the thing I was born with which I prize most of all: My imagination.