NOTE: I’m sharing this lovely response from a friend and writer, Karin S., to last week’s post, “Where Do Memories Go?”
Alexis, this is so poignant! Thank you. When our daughter died at 25, I felt I needed to become the guardian of memories about her and her life. Now, aging myself, I’m trying to decide what additional family stories, if any, would interest the next generations. meanwhile, we have the present where our presence is still needed.
COVID has me thinking about memories and what happens to them when a person dies. It is so strange to be living in a world where one simple human contact could lead to an untimely death. That got me thinking about all the things I have learned, all the memories stored in my brain, and the changes I have witnessed over my life. Where does all that go? Nowhere! All that goes away with me. My grown kids will no doubt assure me that I have imparted many memories to them; I know this because even now, when I begin to tell a story, one of them will roll her/his eyes to let me know that—yes, Mom—you have told us that before…many times.
I could write a selection of memories in a notebook or sign up for one of those programs in which a person answers a question each month about something from the past. Eventually that winds up in a book for their children and grandchildren, but that’s not for me. Maybe if I could put my memories on the lock screen of my granddaughter’s phone, she would read them.
It is probably a good thing that our memories go with us. They are often unreliable anyway. (I know this from comparing notes with my siblings.) Especially in these times, it seems best to live in whatever happiness the moment brings. Here we are. This is what we have to deal with. We can’t change the past and it is difficult to control what happens in the future. Today I am going to go for a walk with my friend Liat and then watch the Super Bowl with my daughter, her dog, and my cat. I don’t really care which team wins. It will be a good day.
HAVE A GOOD WEEK, TOO!
Alexis, this is so poignant! Thank you. When our daughter died at 25, I felt I needed to become the guardian of memories about her and her life. Now, aging myself, I’m trying to decide what additional family stories would interest the next generations, if any. Meanwhile, we have the present where our presence is still needed.