053/365 10/13/2025

It was two years after our father had received an official diagnosis that my sister and I finally found out about it. Completely unrelated, I’d logged into his health portfolio and found the letter of diagnosis: incipient Alzheimer’s. When my sister confronted him with the letter, he calmly folded the letter in half, slid it into the smart leather folio he always carried with him, and said, calmly, “This is ridiculous. I’ll just have to sue for wrongful diagnosis.” At the time, there were few symptoms that couldn’t be assigned to Aging Professor. The small forgettings.