remembering
Ask me about my childhood and I won’t be able to give you any information. I have no memory of my childhood. Hardly any memories as a teen. I remember high school, specifically the school part, being with friends. No family memories. I’m sure they are there, they must have happened, but I cannot bring any to the surface. Even when I see pictures of younger me at some family gathering, I see it and think, “I must have been there because here’s a photo of me, but I don’t remember any of this.”
What bothers me is that my twenties and thirties are also falling into this blackhole. I remember scenes of life scattered throughout the last twenty years but calling to mind anything specific (again, related to family life almost exclusively) is almost impossible for me to do. I’m not sure what any of this means, it is simply a thing that I have noticed, something I am at least able to be aware of. Has my brain scrubbed vast parts of my life from memory banks in order to protect me? Have I forgotten so that certain pain is only experienced once and not for a lifetime?
I have no clue here.
But there are some things that I can sit down and remember. On our evening walk yesterday, Mozzie and I walked through the hospital entrance area to cut from one street to the next on our way back to the apartment and I pointed out a sitting area where they used to have benches. I told him that when we was born, during the labor portion, I would come out here to take work calls and do emails for a few minutes before heading back up. I remember the first night with him in the hospital.
A year or so later I have a specific memory of being on the floor with him in our townhouse, in the family room, passing a ball back and forth, rolling it to each other. I remember his smile.
I remember arriving home from work when he was 5 or 6, seeing him at “his spot” on the side of the house where we let him dig to his heart’s content. I loved seeing him there, shovel in hand, digging away just to dig. He would run to my car and ask me to join him.
There are a few other memories I can bring up but just a few. I am thankful for them. I remember our time living in our first apartment together, how simple life was then. How then life was perfect. It felt just perfect. It only seemed to be that way for a few months before life got in the way, as it seems to do.
I am thankful for the memories I do have, the one’s I can live again, feel again. I do worry about why so much of my past is missing, but for now I am doing my best to be as present as possible in each moment.
But, also, why are memories so important? Does it matter if we can't remember something? Why do some people have better memories of an event than others? I think memories are important, I believe they are, but haven’t given much thought as to why I think this. Does any of this matter? A topic for another day. Now, rest.
Hope you had a great weekend!
~ Aaron
Grateful log for Sun, 24 Mar 2024
- happening upon solutions
- the longer days and evening walks
- remembering