My Human Hard Drive

They say marriage is falling in love and promising till death us do part. It’s being parenting partners and partners in life. My husband has been all of these to me. But the function I’ve been appreciating more and more lately is when he is my human hard drive.

My husband is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to caring for the plants and trees in our yard, when the furnace needs a new filter, and how to get somewhere he drove once ten years ago. But he’s also my go-to for remembering words I can’t. I’ve always had a terrible memory for names. At this stage of my life, specific places and things get misplaced as well.

Just yesterday we went to a movie. In the ads before the movie started, I leaned over and whispered, “That guy looks like he could be the brother of the guy on that show. Josh Somebody, who tries to discover things.”

It was still bugging me when we stopped at a place for lunch. I asked if he knew who I meant.

“Sure, Josh Gates on Expedition Unknown.”

As conversation continued, we were trying to recall the last time we’d been to that restaurant. Was it last Christmas with my family?

“No,” I said. “I think we ate at the one by the airport. What’s the name of it?”

If I can’t remember the name of it, it’s pretty hard to talk about it. But he’s so used to my clues, he usually gets it.

He’s especially useful for celebrity monikers. When we’re choosing a show, he may ask, “Who’s in it?”

My reply is frequently something like, “I can’t think of her name. You know she was in the movie where she and her sister were witches and she used to be married to Tom Hanks – No! Cruise?”

Sometimes he waits to see if it will come to me, but eventually he’ll put me out of my misery and just tell me.

I’m not completely senile. If we met once five years ago and had a good conversation, I can remember that we met at the tire place and you told me about your stepson’s nephew’s gall bladder surgery. Just don’t expect me to recall your name.

If I really do develop dementia someday, it might be hard to tell. But I’ll bet my husband will be the first one who notices.

 

For a mushier view of marriage, read Valentine. If you’re hungry, try A Marriage of Meals.

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