The Memorykeeper

I know I've written before on the amazing depth of Adam's memory, but he continues to floor me. Of course, there are the everyday incidents. A few days ago, a woman I would have sworn I had never seen before in my life came up to us on the street greeting Adam by name and chatting pleasantly for a few minutes. After she walked away, in what is becoming an all too familiar routine, I asked Adam if she worked in his school "No, pajama store", he replied, without missing a beat. He was right. She was the saleswoman at the children's clothing store in our neighborhood where we had purchased pajamas about a month earlier.

And there's his litany of the various cars we've rented, sorted by color and our destination. (He's always right!)

But he blew me away a few weeks ago. My father died in July 2008. Adam met him once, over Christmas of 2008. During his last week of life, we were at the hospice every day and Adam was afraid of him. He was in the last stages of stomach cancer and had had a stroke and couldn't speak. Adam wouldn't go near him.

Since he died, I haven't mentioned him to Adam. Not intentionally, but there's really nothing to say. There's a long, dysfunctional story that goes hand in hand with this, but I'll spare you that.

Adam has a matchbox police car that is a replica of the Suffolk County Police Car, where my father was a policeman and he calls it "Grandpa's police car".

We were in the supermarket in my neighborhood and Adam saw a policeman. He went over to him and showed him the car, and then came out with "My Grandpa can't talk. He's sick and stays in bed."

As they say, you could have knocked me over with a feather! He amazes me!