35/365

At lunch we went out for tacos, my husband and I. I was still thinking about the 92 year old man who stopped me while I was running this morning. He had no idea where he was and no idea how to get home.

"What is the name of your street?" I asked. "Oh I don't remember that," he told me.
"Is it an old house or a newer house?" Yes, I think so."
"Do you think we should go that way?" and I pointed down the street. "Well it's north of here. Or maybe south."
"Can you tell me your wife's name?" "Why do you want to know?"
We wandered around the neighborhood for a while until thankfully, a neighbor saw him, named his street and pointed us in the right direction.

I took him home and he invited me in to meet his wife. "Oh thank you for bringing him home!" she told me. "I told him not to go past where he would remember."

How do we know where we start to forget, the point where we no longer remember? Someday I will likely be the one who confuses which city I'm living in, the name of my street, all the past moves blending into today or some place in between. But my biggest fear? That I'll start cussin'. Hopefully then my family will say, "She did an awfully good job of holding it back all those years."