I’m getting so frustrated re-remembering all that I forgot and reinventing myself. I forget that I had a trip to the underworld, and my brains, body, and emotions have had a run-in with Hades to prove it.

I’ve forgotten so much; where do I begin?

I try to remember the chemo boards, the photos, the prayers. The community got me this far. I forgot.

Queade, the girls’ dear voice teacher, sent me a video of her singing “You’ve Got A Friend.” She wanted to give me a gift that went beyond our lessons. It brought tears to my eyes and chills down my spine. How could I forget that? But then I forgot.

Just the other day, I told Alex, “No one is there for me anymore.” And he said, “You’ve stopped sharing.” If I don’t give a part of myself, I’ll get nothing in return. I forgot.

I went to my daughter’s play and listened to a speech about how this parent had organized Kisses For The Cast for six years and even made sure to distribute them in carline during Covid last year. And I thought to myself, “Who would be so dedicated to the school? Not me. I dropped the ball this year and didn’t even do it.” Alex nudged me. “Go up there. It’s you.” I forgot.

Friday, I went to our last PA meeting, which happened to be my first one of the school year, where we have our annual goodbye to graduating families panel. It’s been a tradition ever since we did the first one six years ago. Afterward, someone said, “Didn’t you start this?” And I said, “Oh, yeah.” I forgot.

I’m so busy reassembling Humpty Dumpty and desperately trying to put him back on the wall where he belongs; I have no time or energy to remember that he was more of an egg than a Weeble, after all.

I’m taking myself way too seriously again. I forgot that, too.

So here’s my feeble attempt at humor again: with my salt-packed boobs, will I fit in more with the Kim Kardashian’s of the world or middle school girls? LAUGH

I’m doing PT twice a week, and I’m having nerve pain in my arm. I mean, really? What’s the arm have to do with my breasts? So I tell my Physical Therapist, “I’ve been in pain, so I’m taking Imodium.”

She looked at me a bit odd (even though I warned her about my chemo brain) and asked, “What pain exactly does the Imodium help you with?”

I took Imodium for chemo, Motrin for PT, same difference to someone like me but not to anyone else. I forgot.

But I reached the height of my frustration, and just when I wanted to scream, “I’m nowhere near recovered!” I saw a dear friend who made it all make sense.

She said, “Your blog isn’t about cancer. It helps me in my life.”

Ah, finally, what I’m supposed to remember!

During chemo, I made a note to myself because I didn’t want to forget: “You know you’re having a bad day when your phone doesn’t recognize your face. And yes, smart slick, I’m not wearing a mask or sunglasses.” I’m not sure what smart slick even means; that’s chemo brain for you. Then I added: “And everybody’s walking in slow motion.” I forgot.

How weird to forget things and re-remember like you’re watching a classic movie, and you forget it until that moment hits you, “Oh yeah, I kind of remember that part.”

So I got a text from Queade, the girls’ voice teacher. Remember? She taught me how to have fun, loosen up, and get me over my stage fright so I could be in Mamma Mia with the girls.

We didn’t sing only Mamma Mia songs during my lessons, but she had me work on “You’ve Got A Friend.” Even though she told me to imagine I was singing it to Alexandra (as a baby), I never got far with it. That was pre-Covid anyway, so of course, I forgot.

How could I forget? Oh, chemo, right. But when life started up again and got frustrating, complicated, and serious, I re-watched the video of Queade singing to me with all her heart and soul, and I remembered.

If you’re like me (even if you don’t have chemo brain) and life’s challenges make you forget the love we all have for one another, may watching Queade sing “You’ve Got A Friend” remind you, too.

No one should ever forget the greatest gift of all: You’ve Got A Friend.