Memories

I visited an old friend today.  His kid sister and niece were there too.  I did a lot of talking, recounting many memories of our growing up.  We go way back together.  I met Marc through a common friend when I was in second grade and he was in third.  I remembered that we went to Ash Grove Elementary school.  I remembered that I lived on Monaco Street and he lived on Ginger Court.

I talked about memories of the many adventures we shared over the years.  I recounted tales of our prowess playing touch-football. I recalled our competitions on the tennis court, at the poker table and over the chess board.  I remembered, when we were a bit older, the many times we skied together at Loveland and Winter Park. 

I remembered the times we got together at my house to ‘jam’, Marc on the violin, me on the guitar, our friend Paul on the piano and another friend Steve on clarinet.  Marc’s sister reminded us of the times at his house where we brought our stamp collections together to barter and to trade.

Marc and I once drove together to California to visit a friend.  I remember on that trip camping at Yosemite among the bears and camping at Lake Tahoe among the casinos.  Coming home, we camped at the Maroon Bells among the aspens.

When I was in medical school and Marc was in law school, we shared a house.  If I remember correctly, our total monthly rent was $121.72.  I remember that Marc disliked my cooking, especially my turkey soup made from a leftover carcass.

I remember being there for each other as we weathered the ups and downs of girlfriends and dating.  Eventually, I introduced Marc to my cousin, and they got married.  The same cousin introduced me to my wife-to-be.

Today, I shared with Marc my memories of last night, when I attended his daughter’s wedding.  I shared with him how in love his daughter and son-in-law appeared to be.  I told him that his other children seemed well and that his grandson looks just like him.  I told him that he could be very proud of his family.  I assured him that even though he wasn’t at the wedding, he was not forgotten.

Today, I was flooded by memories.  I needed to tell the old stories.  Marc had no stories and no memories to share.  About eight years ago his family noticed some subtle changes in his personality.  Now, he is in a nursing home due to his advanced dementia.  Marc has tremors. He speaks but a few words and can barely stay awake.  Marc was a good man and a dear friend.  Why this?

Marc no longer recognizes me.  For a few moments he seemed to recognize his sister and she was able to get him to smile, a smile from the past that I remember very well.