Memories: Remembered and Forgotten

Memory loss is a natural part of aging, and for most people it starts in the 50s. When I think of happy or pleasurable times in the past- whether with family, friends, or at work- I feel suffused with warmth and a sense of gratitude. Being able to talk about the memories with those who were present when the events occurred is an additional source of pleasure, but I can still enjoy them even if the others who were participants remember nothing.

Many wonderful memories were built upon my life with my husband and children. We went on cruises together and had many family get-togethers, but it’s some snippets of events that have stayed with me most clearly. Like the time when my son was in a preschool, at 4 years old, and was in a Christmas play.  I don’t remember the name of the show or even the plot, but I remember him on the stage, wearing a red and blue snowsuit and hat. He was using a little broom to, symbolically and purposefully, sweep away the little girls from his preschool who were also on stage, dressed as snowflakes in white sparkling tutus. It is as though it happened last month, not almost 40 years ago. And it has been seared and sealed into my memory, forever. My son doesn’t remember.

My sister has Alzheimer’s disease. When I last visited her, a few months ago, we spent some time together mostly speaking Yiddish, the language we both learned as children, when our Bubba (grandmother) lived with our family. We talked about many things, including our parents, our children and the weather. I was careful to never mention her current situation or her plans or the recent death of her husband of 60 plus years, which she doesn’t remember.  She still corrects my Yiddish (she had some formal schooling in Yiddish and I never did), and we laughed a lot as I struggled to make myself understood. After I left I called to let her know I was home, and she had no memory that I was there and asked “when will you come visit me?”  My sadness about this was quickly replaced by reminding myself of the pleasure we both had when we were together, and I savored the time as I recalled our conversation. But she remembered nothing.

I recently went to see my 18-months-old grandson. He lives four hours away, so visits are not very frequent. We spent an afternoon together alone, as his parents were working. We played with many toys, including a big bag of Lego blocks that to my surprise he noisily turned upside down to empty, and then put them all back in, one by one. When he finished, he kicked his feet up and down while sitting on the floor, loudly repeating “yay,” happily congratulating himself. He clearly enjoyed this process more than any building potential of the blocks. It was a late winter day warmed by bright sunshine, so we then took a walk together outdoors. When he got tired- I had forgotten that his feet were so much shorter than mine- he simply sat down in the street, looking around for something to do. He was eager to be picked up and I carried him home. During that afternoon I felt our tie to each other had strengthened, and I enjoyed telling his parents about my time with their happy, curious child. Grandma will always remember that afternoon. I doubt he will.

The idea that All we have is now, right now, not the past nor the future, so enjoy it… has been said in different ways by many authors.  It’s true, but it doesn’t just apply to actual events. Their memory can be stored, taken out at will, even if no one else who was there remembers. And it can be brought out and enjoyed over and over again… for that too I am grateful.