This time, he left his keys in the cupboard between the bag of lentils and the cans of potato soup. Last week, the bathtub runneth over while he looked at memes on the Internet. Three days ago, the milk went into the freezer after he made a bowl of cereal. He was beginning to slip, and he knew it. The way a tree climber knows the branch is about to give way. The image of a man his own age at a restaurant, bib around his neck, and being spoon-fed by a middle-aged daughter rang in his head. He himself had no daughter and very little family; he had only the tightrope under his feet with a shifting sense of balance.  

There are measures one can take to preserve cognitive function. Crossword puzzles and sudoku are popular. A book from the library advises him to brush his remaining teeth with his non-dominant hand. How many synonyms for small can he list? For elderly? For dementia? He struggles to keep the exercises light, but even assembling a roster of his high school basketball teammates brings him down. Three were dead, one was in senior care. He loved history, but hated nostalgia and felt looking back aged a person worse than excess or deprivation would. Still, he made these lists of past ephemera.  

He takes Melatonin to sleep. Caffeine to wake up. Omega-3 for his heart. Folic acid because his doctor said so. Also, the pills for blood pressure, for cholesterol, for depression. But, most of all, the memory tests, puzzles, and acquired compulsions: look at the keys in your hand before shutting the door. His notebook is the holy folder with his every task mapped out. And a prayer forever going out like a radio signal: 

     Please don’t let me forget.