Memory

A good friend of mine -- we used to bicycle together a lot -- fell off his bicycle more than three years ago and hasn't been the same since. He had a series of little strokes and has been in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair and unable to do anything except feed himself, talk and sleep. He used to play the violin and now he doesn't even want to listen to music, except for live music when his musician friends come and play for him.

Someone in my bicycle group asked me today how our friend is doing. I said, "The same." Which means he can remember almost everything before the accident but nothing afterwards. His short-term memory seems almost nonexistent, and if I visit him, he will probably forget about the visit a day or two later. But if I visit him after a few months' absence, he is always happy to see me and asks me what's happening with the bicycle lane on the new extension of the Bay Bridge (which is being named after him, since he was the supreme advocate for this lane and indeed, the last bicycle ride he ever took was on the bridge, where he fell).

I have a disjointed feeling when I am with him and afterwards, too. I feel as if I'm with a person stuck in 2002, with whom I share a common experience but with whom I really can't share any  new experiences. I know he is aware of my being there, and what happens between us is real, but it is a limited experience and it won't register for long in his mind, or so it seems.

And memory is all. Because if we can't remember an encounter with another person, there really is no relationship. And yet, with my friend, it's because of old memories that we're still relating to each other. So there is a past memory but no current or future one, and though I've seen him often over the years, every time I still expect him to be the person I once knew and every time am disappointed that I can not reboot his mind.

I remember when computers went from being giant calculators to personal desktop machines with a memory. That's what made the computer important for me:  memory, the ability to store my files  and access them. Without the ability to constantly refresh one's memory -- either on the computer or the brain -- one is left with a relic, an archive, a hard drive gathering dust.