Yesterday is a blur. I imagine that is a good thing. That is nothing new with this disease, for me anyways. I tell people all the time, I have no recollection of yesterdays. I haven't for a long, long time.

I often wonder if other patients deal with this; not knowing what transpired yesterday without someone reminding them? Phyllis June knows this well and that is our main discussion every morning.

Going over what, if anything, happened yesterday that was important. Along with what I was wanting to do today.

This takes its toll on a person also. I have to be briefed on the day's activities before the day begins—every day.

I try to keep things in perspective.

Nothing I forget is going to be earth-shattering. No one's life is going to change on account of something I forget to do. It's the daily aggravation of losing what little short term memory I have that's frustrating.

Everything everyone does starts with their memory.

Every single thing you do today will be done because you "thought" about it. When you deal with short-term memory loss that thought process is gone. This creates fear, confusion and doubt, just to name a few.

It makes me physically ill.

Now this is just dealing with short-term memory loss with me. I cannot imagine yet what it will be like when my long-term memory starts to go. Which it has, I am sure. I just try to ignore it, or don't discuss it.

Denial? Perhaps.

The road we go down as patients is, in my opinion, the hardest journey one will ever take.

I hear all the time about how people are amazed at what I can still do.

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They don't understand, they try, but they don't.

I cannot imagine life without my wife, Phyllis June, being here, helping me every day with so many little things most take for granted. I cannot imagine life without Memory People; the support I and others get there keeps me going. It simply does.

Our members in Memory People read the posts and we know when someone is hurting, or something is not quite right. We know because we are family. It's more than a saying. Every one of us have grieved over someone else's loss in MP, someone we have never "met" but felt their pain just the same.

I am rambling. I look at what I have typed and only hope it makes sense. It is too long for me to read. Another loss.

Today will be better. I will make it be.

Editor’s Note: Phyllis June Phelps, Rick’s wife of 38 years and primary caregiver, passed away November 9, 2021. She was 64 years old.