Before I Forget

"Working with Vanity Fair contributing editor Michael Shnayerson, B. and her husband Dan share B.'s unfolding story on dealing with early-onset Alzheimer's. Crafted in short chapters that interweave their narrative with ... advice, readers learn in small bites about dealing with Alzheimer's disease's day-to-day challenges, the family tensions, and ways of coping, as well as gain tips on diet and exercise from a lifestyle maven using her decades of expertise in a new and unexpected way"--

“An unsettling, compelling first novel about secrets, illness, and the role of African-American men in society and family life.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review) This powerful novel of three generations of black men bound by blood—and by histories of mutual love, fear, and frustration—gives Pulitzer Prize–winning writer Leonard Pitts the opportunity to explore the painful truths of black men’s lives, especially as they play out in the fraught relations of fathers and sons. As fifty-year-old Mo tries to reach out to his increasingly tuned-out son Trey (who himself has become an unwed teenaged father), he realizes that the burden of grief and anger he carries over his own estranged father has everything to do with the struggles he encounters with his son. Part road novel, part character study, and part social critique, and written in compulsively readable prose, Before I Forget is the work of a major new voice in American fiction. Pitts knows inside and out the difficulties facing black men as they grapple with the complexities of their roles as fathers. “Pitts is a master storyteller with a keen eye for both social trends and the human heart.” —Tananarive Due, American Book Award-winning author “A beautiful, tragic and riveting work.” —Shelf Awareness (selected as one of top ten novels of 2009) “A gripping story of regret, revenge, unconditional love, acceptance, and ultimately forgiveness.” —Atlanta Daily World

'Some days all I want to do is give up the constant, exhausting struggle and stop trying to be normal. But I can't. It's not in me to walk away from a fight. I'll keep fighting and telling my story. Before I forget.' When she was just 46, Christine Bryden – science advisor to the prime minister and single mother of three daughters – was diagnosed with younger-onset dementia. Doctors told her to get her affairs in order as she would soon be incapable of doing so. Twenty years later she is still thriving, still working hard to rewire her brain even as it loses its function. The unusually slow progress of her condition puts Christine in a unique position to describe the lived experience of dementia, a condition affecting tens of millions of people worldwide. In this revealing memoir, she looks back on her life in an effort to understand how her brain – once her greatest asset, now her greatest challenge – works now. She shares what it's like to start grasping for words that used to come easily. To be exhausted from visiting a new place. To suddenly realise you don't remember how to drive. To challenge, every day, the stereotype of the 'empty shell'. Brave and inspiring, this is Christine's legacy for people with dementia and those who care about them. 'Christine teaches us that we are more than what our brains are capable of remembering, that while we can still breathe and love, we all have something important to contribute to this world.' Lisa Genova, author of bestseller Still Alice

My ancestors went to Guyana, only English country in South America, by boats from different continents. My mother, Indian, father, Negro, ate the forbidden fruit. I was rejected from conception, amidst the hate and confusion. Old enough to walk, I became my older brothers Datson and Davids keeper. They were mute, deaf and later blind; I was their ears, mouth and later eyes Allegedly, curse on my mother from her father for marring a Black man. Nothing stopped me from loving, caring, being proud of them. Bigotry, hatred, ignorance engulfed my childhood in a providently Indian village. We were dehumanized like animals, freaks and slaves. Even the good Madras people of Whim couldnt stop the horror of being Mixed. In the house of silence, practicing my vocabulary/hearing on animals. Am an animal lover till today. Was told am Indian, speak, pray in Hindi and Sanskrit, keep away from Blacks; they eat Indian children with curly hair. After ten, this barefooted Indian found her other half. Allowed to enter their homes, gravitated and become a runaway. Giant ants, deepwater, dunce cap, ostracized Mommy died, Cinderella abuse stopped when my dearest Uncle Bertram set me free on an elephant - five-dollar bill. Like barnacle, I clamped to the first man in freedom town. He gave me three beautiful children, when nothing left to clamp onto, he forced me to fly without wings. Flew to America, cold, homeless, penniless. A Stranger gave me some silver. I slept under friends table, a kind family made me and mine American Citizens. No job was too many. Goodwill perfect for low-maintenance like us. Education and focus, #1 priority I thank/forgive those haters who looked down at me, they gave me the will to rise. I have my David, and, for not eating my young, God blessed me with six grandchildren.

Abby's memories are her most precious thing. Even though they're sometimes painful, she can't stop herself looking back, reliving the love of her life. Until a freak accident means that she could lose it all: every memory and experience she has ever had. Abby can't believe it's true. She feels fine. She is fine. How could she possibly forget all those moments that make her who she is? She's determined to fight it. With the help of her friends and family, Abby makes a list of things she's always wanted to do. She's going to save her memory by having the most unforgettable year of her life ...

When I was young, the Civil War and the Revolutionary War was ancient history to me. However, as I now reflect on my life, I suddenly realize how young our country is for I knew somebody who knew people in the Revolutionary War that ended over 225 years ago! GrandmotherGranniemother of my Grandfather Herbert Windsorwas born in 1835 and died in 1927 when I was fivea wonderful old lady I loved. She was 10 in 1845, 60 years after that war ended. I am sure there were numerous veterans then 80-90 years old. And so, I touched the woman who touched some veterans of the Revolutionary War! She also had to know quite a few in the Civil War when she was 20-years-old, a war that ended only 57 years before my birth. Put in this perspective, what has happened to our country in that time is incredible from total population, to trains, planes, telephones, automobiles, medicines, radio, TV, computers, a man on the moon and millions of new citizens from all over the world! None of these people could even have conceived of such marvels nor a life expectancy from about 35 to 40 to 83 plus. My life has seen an explosion in technology that now affects the entire world. I have been privileged to be in on the beginning of some of that technology. * * * * * I have written these memoirs so that the family and possible future generations might share in my experiences of a life of many involvements, many accomplishments, some failures, many contacts with the famous, and a life for which I can be so grateful. As the youngest of four, I often was rebelliousI wanted my own way. I suspect this was partly due to inheriting some of my fathers genes. (Occasionally I had tantrums which were easily handled by mother who would say, Go on and yell, Ill wait. That pretty well cooled my attempt at getting attention.) Still, I was brought up in a loving family, the four of us with our parents were all for each other. Thanks to Dads success in business, we were brought up, even with the Depression, with comfort. Throughout my career, I was known for being quite creative. I think that too came in part from Dad being very positive about doing things his way. I wanted to challenge him on many things and that caused me to think about new ways. I never could have guessed I would marry a girl from my kindergarten class. I was based in California and fearlessly spoke up to my commanding officer (a Major) whose name was the same as a fellow member of Tiger Inn at Princeton. He changed my orders that permitted me to call a girl I had dated at Vassar and while on a weekend date in La Jolla, I visited the parents of Mary Randolph who lived there. I always enjoyed the Randolphs, each of whom had creative talents and an unusual sense of humor. They enjoyed small situations that would pass by most people. Their only child absorbed the best of each. Sixty years later she could still reel off a classic story while having fun doing it. Randy has been an extraordinary companion all these years. She was always very creative with great talents in so many ways. Still, except for our common background in Bronxville, from the start we had different interests. Mine were sports and music and taking risks. Hers were reading, writing and avoidance of conflict. By necessity she was brought up frugally. The fact we stayed together all these 68 years is a great tribute to her hanging in as she raised our kids, cooked their meals on time, dressed them, and drove them to wherever. In our earlier years when we were still trying to adjust to each other, she once said she should have married a 9-5 husband who didnt commute. Her support for my passion for various jobs with late hours and business trips while she was stuck at home made my life possible. How lucky can a man be. She raised four wonderful children, each quite different from the other yet each closely and lovingly attached to each other and to us. NOTE: To minimize confusion when Randy