“AND YOU ARE?” THE FINER POINTS OF A MEMORY-CHALLENGED LIFE
All of us in the “next chapter” phase of our lives regularly have the experience of seeing someone we know but are not able to remember his or her name. The face is familiar, we can vividly recall times spent with that person, can even name their spouse and children. But there’s a blank in our brain where the person’s name should be.
There are many variations on this theme as we grow older. Recently I got an email from someone who reminded me that we worked together at CFCF radio 30 years ago. He listed all the people we knew in common – friends of mine that I have kept up with over the years. But his name drew a complete blank.
Once, a few years ago, I forgot the name of a woman I saw virtually every day. We were working together on a project and she came to my house for the meeting. When she arrived, I realized I could not remember her name. My shock at the blank space in my brain left me paralyzed. I spent the whole time in the meeting distracted, trying to come up with ways to get her to say her name. I finally left the room at one point and looked her up in my agenda.
I rejoice silently each time I see someone else going through the mind-search or picking the wrong name to match the face. So glad I am not alone.
I’m positively giddy when a young person – pre-40’s – is caught without a name. When the kids start forgetting, it means my relapses might be in the too-much-information-overload corner of my brain and not in the Alzheimer’s corner.
What’s curious is that we are all caught in this song and dance and yet we have no accepted behaviors of how to deal with it. Time and time again, each one of us stands there, shocked at our memory loss, waiting for some flash of recognition to save us from the embarrassment of admitting we have no clue who we’re talking to.
Having accumulated hundreds of these uncomfortable moments, I have tried various solutions over the past few years.
Admitting the memory blank seems the most obvious remedy especially since we all experience it.
With my long-ago colleague at CFCF, I took a deep breath and replied to his e-mail, admitting that his name did not ring a bell and would he please send me a picture so I could rummage through the correct file cabinet in my brain and bring up his memory. Being more or less my age, he graciously wrote back confessing that it happened to him all the time.
Unfortunately, he sent me a recent picture of himself and I strained to conjure up a young person behind the gray/white hair. Although there was a tug of recognition, I could not come up with anything more concrete than a vague feeling that I had once known this person. Perhaps a photo from 30 years ago would have done the trick, but I felt horrible and doubly embarrassed that I could not remember someone who I obviously spent time with and knew fairly well at one point in my life.
This remains the basic flaw in telling people straight up “Sorry, I can’t remember your name”: it feels as if you’re saying this person is not important enough to recall. I may be getting grouchy but I still need my friends – even the ones I can’t remember.
Sometimes I try to save the person who is forgetting my name. When I see the blank look come over their face and the smile widen considerably, I will jump in: “Hi. Janet Torge” I say as I offer my hand. When I make a hit, a feeling of relief washes the blank stare away, the smile relaxes into something genuine again and I feel like I’ve done a good deed for the day. When I’ve mis-read the expression or the person is in total denial, the response back is an accusing: “I knew who you were, Janet.” But it only happens rarely and I can live with that.
Perhaps we could all start introducing ourselves to everyone we meet – strangers and family members alike. If the stats are correct and the majority of the population will be over 50 in the next decade, this social practice could prove to be quite popular.
If I thought it would make it difference, I would ask you to remember that you heard it here first.
Janet Torge