Before I Forget by Tory Henwood Hoen: A Deep Dive into Memory and Identity
When I first laid eyes on Before I Forget, it was love at first sight—seriously, who could resist that stunning cover? The vibrant pink typeface against the picturesque waterfowl instantly piqued my interest, inviting me to dive into the pages. Little did I know, Tory Henwood Hoen’s book would challenge me in ways I hadn’t anticipated, grappling with complex themes of Alzheimer’s and familial estrangement while all the while crafting a narrative that’s both touching and disconcerting.
At its heart, Before I Forget explores the fraught relationships between memory, identity, and the tangled cords of family life. The protagonist, Cricket, finds herself navigating the murky waters of caregiving while facing her father’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. The opening chapters immediately immerse us in the realities of illness, a theme that resonates deeply with anyone who’s ever felt the isolating weight of caring for loved ones. Cricket’s voice relays a poignant mix of hope and resignation when she reflects, “I’m ready to be something other than young,” a sentiment that struck me profoundly. How often do we not just navigate our own lives but also the lives of those we love, feeling both helpless and empowered in equal measure?
Hoen’s writing is nothing short of enchanting—there’s a lyrical quality to her prose that makes even the heaviest subjects feel accessible and deeply human. I found myself captivated by her portrayal of memory loss, especially in reflections like, “What if Alzheimer’s isn’t just a slow death? What if it’s another dimension entirely—an ascension, even?” This captivating question opened a doorway to contemplating illness not just as a tragedy but as a transformative experience, challenging our notions of control and identity.
However, as much as I wanted to love this book, I felt an underlying tension between its beautifully rendered moments and a troubling narrative oversight. The portrayal of disability in popular media often leans toward the “magical” trope—where characters become inspirational figures rather than complex individuals with inherent value. This was particularly evident in Before I Forget, leaving me grappling with the thought that magical disabled people don’t exist in real life. As I reflected on the characters’ journeys, I found myself wishing that the novel had delved deeper into the nuances of their experiences without elevating them solely for their ability to inspire able-bodied readers.
Among my favorite moments, Cricket’s poignant realization about her relationship with her father resonated profoundly: “It’s not that I had lost my father—it’s that he had lost me. I had been erased.” The depth of that emotion underscores how devastating it can be when illness transforms the very essence of a loved one, and it hit home for me on multiple levels.
In conclusion, Before I Forget offers a rich tapestry of human experience, highlighting both the fragility and resilience inherent in our lives. This novel will surely resonate with anyone who appreciates thoughtful explorations of family dynamics, memory, and identity. While I found myself caught between admiration for its lyrical storytelling and frustration at its portrayals of disability, the journey itself was undeniably impactful. If you’re looking for a book that infuses warmth into dark realities and embarks on a quest for understanding and connection, give Before I Forget a try—but remember to ponder the subtleties of representation along the way.