Dementia is terrifying. Because you can forget how you much you love someone. It erases you as easily and indifferently as a computer software cleaning out storage.
Dementia is terrifying because I imagine my past self to have been hopefully naive. And that’s a good thing, because it means I’m wiser now. And though I’m not defined by my past, I carry it with me. And should I stop, what becomes of my wisdom?
It is terrifying to realise that most of what matters is a fabrication. Our bonds are invisible, our histories are inconceivable and our feelings, imperceptible. Take this away and we are merely matter, the grand recycling of the universe.
It is most terrifying when you see it in front of you, to your grandmother. Because you realise that all things are impermanent. We spend our days waning. The cells in our body are relentless, regenerating and sometimes not. And one day, our cells will stop dividing. As we are living, we are also slowly dying.
Dementia is a terrifying reminder to wake up. Why do we pretend forever exists? Why do we continue to live our lives for other people? Why are we so afraid of death, when something almost as bad is coming for us, and sooner?
If the great reset is coming, and you only had one shot before your memories were gone, wouldn’t you rather have made it worthwhile?
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