Not Exactly ‘The Notebook’

My wife and I were conversing the other day about growing old, losing our wits, forgetting ourselves and others while doing our best to remain in love.  She asked me, in a voice seeking reassurance, if I would, like James Garner, spend all my waking moments helping her remember herself and who she was.

“Maybe,” I answered, figuring I may by then be just as lost as she; but then my true nature revealed itself, and I immediately added, “Or maybe I’ll play video games all the time while checking on you occasionally.”

Her jaw dropped, literally, and she started at me in disbelief.  Then she let out a belly laugh and declared, “I’m going to go Facebook that.”  Which she did.

I’d say we have a solid bond.

Kyle Cupp

Kyle Cupp is a freelance writer who blogs about culture, philosophy, politics, postmodernism, and religion. He is a contributor to the group Catholic blog Vox Nova. Kyle lives with his wife, son, and daughter in North Texas. Follow him on Facebook and Twitter.

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2 Responses

  1. Miss Mary says:

    Not to sound bitter or anything, but it’s called fiction for a reason.

  2. BlaiseP says:

    The great thing about growing old is how large your autonomic routines will become. You’ll become more predictable and less irritable. The little stuff will sorta get to you but more than anything you’ll desire peace and tranquillity.

    Last scene of all,
    That ends this strange eventful history,
    Is second childishness

    A sense of wonder will return to life. Small children will become more beautiful. Though you’ll end up buying the same things every grocery run, you’ll take less for granted. The distant past will come into focus with greater clarity. Though I am not extremely old, I can say the delights of old age are very considerable. Beyond the fussing and fretting of your thirties and forties, the long run through your fifties will sort you out and reduce your inventory of troubles.

    If you ever have to face Alzheimer’s Disease in someone you love, the last memories to go will be those of childhood. It is a demonic illness. A bit of Neruda:

    Amor mío,
    nos hemos encontrado
    sedientos y nos hemos
    bebido toda el agua y la sangre,
    nos encontramos
    con hambre
    y nos mordimos
    como el fuego muerde,
    dejándonos heridos.

    Pero espérame
    guárdame tú dulzura.
    Yo te daré también
    una rosa.

    My love,
    we found each other
    thirsty and we have
    drunk all the water and blood,
    we met
    in hunger
    and we bit each other
    as fire bites,
    leaving us wounded.

    but wait for me
    keep your sweetness for me
    and I will give you
    a rose.