I saw a post earlier about someone forgetting words in a meeting. Hit me hard. I’m 72 now. My husband, he’s 75, and I’ve taken care of him since his stroke five years ago. His short-term memory is… gone. He asks the same questions every hour. He forgets what he ate for breakfast. Sometimes he forgets where he is. I answer him, patiently. Always patiently. But lately, I’ve been doing it too. Not like him. Not yet. But I’ll be talking, explaining something about bills or appointments, and a common word just… vanishes. Poof. Gone. I stumble. I grasp for it. And I see that flicker in people’s eyes — pity, maybe, or concern. I just say I’m tired. Always tired. It's a convenient excuse. I spend my entire day making sure he’s safe, fed, clean. Making sure he remembers *something*. And all I can think about is what happens when I can’t remember anymore. When I’m the one forgetting the names of everyday things. Who will be there for me? Who will answer my questions with patience? No one. I’m IT. And if I break, everything breaks. It just feels like a countdown sometimes. That’s all.