Snow gently collects on the window sill of my room. The edges of the window are lined with twinkling red, green and blue lights. They remind me it’s Christmas. Wasn’t it just Christmas yesterday?

Time loses all meaning when one is trapped in the tomb of their own mind. How long ago was I diagnosed? On bad days, I don’t even know anything is wrong. On good days, days like today, I remember too much.

I look around the room at photos of people. Some I recognize. My daughter. My long-dead wife. Others I don’t. I grasp at their names. Just out of reach. Just under the surface of my memory.

I stare at the faded black and white photo of Joe. I always recognize that one. His eyes stare back at me from below his Army-issue helmet. I can almost smell the forrest air. The weight of the M1 Garand on my shoulder. The chill of that winter in my bones. All of it, like it was yesterday. Was it yesterday? I still feel the fear permeating that tiny foxhole.

No, that photo I never forget.

Not Joe.

Not today, anyway.