The characters were feeling a bit familiar. The plot, too. But this mystery novel was one in a series with the same main character, set in the same city, and I’d read all of the others, so my deja vu seemed logical and explainable. I forged ahead in the book.
On page 151, I suddenly realized I knew what was coming next, and not because I’m such an intuitive solver of mysteries. I looked at my husband, plopped the book down and said, “I cannot believe this. It has taken me 151 pages to figure out that I’ve already read this book.”
It was a prolonged, significant senior moment, for sure.
I feel WAY too young to be in this boat. It’s one thing to lose my train of thought in the middle of a conversation – I have much younger friends who do that. It’s perhaps even okay to occasionally forget where I parked my car, although it’s no fun to wander around pushing my keyless entry remote to locate my big green whale afloat in the Wal-Mart parking sea. And maybe almost everyone has experienced the momentary panic that hits when you dial the phone, someone answers and you can’t remember who in the world you’ve called.
But reading 151 pages of a novel before realizing you’ve already read it – now that is getting scary.
Maybe it’s the aluminum in my deodorant – I’ve heard the theory about aluminum causing memory loss. But frankly, what good is a crisp, clear mind if you’re stinky and friendless? I think I’ll keep using my deodorant, aluminum and all.
Maybe it’s the hectic pace of my life. Isn’t that the trendy excuse for all our maladies and afflictions, from superficial relationships to fat thighs? Trouble is, my life usually isn’t all that hectic and sadly, no one who knows me has ever expressed concern that my mind is going out to wear out from overuse.
Maybe my forgetfulness is validation of the theory that couples who are married a long time start becoming more and more alike as the years go by. Just my luck – after 26 years, I’m getting Joe’s forgetfulness instead of his fat-gobbling metabolism.
In the final analysis, I guess I need to accept that some of these mental hiccups are just part of the scenery on the slippery road that leads to Geriatricville.
And besides, forgetting isn’t always a bad thing. The Apostle Paul, in the third chapter of Philippians, elevated forgetfulness to a virtue when he wrote, “…one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
And to His children, God says this, “I, even I, am the one who wipes out your transgressions for My own sake; and I will not remember your sins.” (Isaiah 43:25)
Do you have a past that makes you feel ashamed or hopelessly damaged? God can remove the sting from memories that cripple. Do you fear that God is making some kind of holy home video with all of your sins recorded in living color? Jesus came to take the punishment for every incident on that video. Trust Him and your sins are forgiven and erased.
There are many things about my past I’m grateful I don’t have to remember. I’m very thankful I don’t have to struggle through my days dragging an emotional gunny-sack of regret and shame. If God chooses not to remember my sins, I don’t have to, either. But in all that wonderful forgetting, there are still a few things I’d like to remember, including childhood Christmases, falling in love with my husband, the birth of my children, and, please, Lord — the books I’ve read and the approximate location of my car in the doggone Wal-Mart parking lot.