I-forget-peoples’-names. This is a matter of I-don’t-recognize-my-husband-or-my-children. And, as incredible as this sounds, I don’t recognize myself. At a large function, I thought I saw someone I knew, turns out it was myself—in a mirror.
After a recent family funeral, I shared photos with relatives who weren’t able to attend. My daughter said, “Tell Jacob his beard looks great!” I thought, “Jacob has a beard?” So, I looked up a picture. And there was my son Jacob standing next to me, with a full beard. It did look nice.
Anyone reading this probably thinks, “How sad.” But there’s an upside.
A stranger stood in a driveway I needed to drive into. I waited for him to move, and when he did, I recognized him. Jacob. In that moment, an incredible love flowed through me—this “stranger” is treasured in my heart and soul.
I don’t think “normal” people experience the same flood of emotion. And I’d never give up this experience—a reminder of how cherished my loved ones are.
NB: I do have ways of recognizing people. I recognized Jacob by the way he moved. I also recognize people by the sound of their voices. But if someone is silent and standing still, they are a stranger to me.