I knew the day of the week (which I often don’t), the month and the year, but I didn’t know it was the 21st. That’s hardly surprising as I don’t keep track of the days of the week or the dates.
The nature of my life means most days are pretty much the same: I work, I play, I laugh, and I cry almost every day. I’m lucky that way: I live my life fully every day. It doesn’t matter much if it’s Monday, Wednesday, Friday or Sunday. And it makes no difference whatsoever if it’s the 1st, 10th or 27th. I don’t hold on tight to dates and days. No need to.
I do hold on tenaciously to my values, hopes and dreams on the other hand. They are the cornerstones of my life. At the moment, I also have a relatively firm grip on many of my memories.
Today, I still recall the two sets of words the nurse had told me to remember yesterday. The first group of three was: shirt, brown, honesty. The second group of five was: face, velvet, church, daisy, red. There were three animals in the test: a lion, a hippopotamus and a camel. I had to draw a clock showing the hands at ten past eleven. I also drew a three dimensional cube.
Someday my memories will elude me. But not yesterday. And not today.