Memories are funny things - they can be triggered by a song, a scent, a story or a place. They can make us laugh, or cry, and they can instantly bring back whatever emotion they elicited at the time they were formed. They are something we take for granted will be there when we need and want to recall them, until they are not.
As we get older, we are given glimpses of what it might be like to be memory-impaired: losing our keys and, after much looking, finding them in the refrigerator; getting a warm greeting from someone at the grocery store and having no idea who they are; going downstairs (or to the garage, or the bedroom) and forgetting what we went down to do or get. And we realize how much we depend on our memory.
Then, as our parents get older, we experience, through them, the pain and frustration of losing one's memories.
Watching someone move through the stages of dementia is something many of us will experience if we are fortunate enough to grow old along side those we love. Dementia can take the memory quickly, or slowly. It can result in confusion over what year or decade it is, erasing some experiences completely from the memory; or, it can result in a rewriting of the most stressful times in life allowing for a different outcome, if only in the mind. It can leave the memories somewhat intact, but create fear and confusion as the individual struggles to differentiate between reality and dreams or takes on the belief that something read or seen on tv has occurred to them. Dementia reminds us of the pivotal role our memories play in our well-being.
As I worked over the last few months to get my house ready to sell, I've come across so many things that have triggered memories - both good and bad, but mainly good. And I've understood more completely why simplifying our lives and clearing out the "things" we've accumulated increases in difficulty as we grow older. We worry if we don't have the "things" to trigger our memories, we will forget those people that have been most important to us. We cling to the scarf with the lingering scent of perfume, or the card with the instantly recognizable handwriting. We believe that those things will have even greater value to us as we age, and our memories become a little less sharp. And we fear that somehow, freeing ourself of the object is, in someway, dishonoring the memory of the person.
I'm not sure if this is why my parents held on to so much "stuff", or if they were concerned that they might be discarding something of value. I'm not clear if it was the "depression era" frame of mind, or the concern over losing the history of what had come before. All I know is that, at the end of their days, the memories were not tied to "things", they were tied to people; and when the memories, started to fade, it was the people who brought them back out of the fog.
There are so many things I could hold onto that would, I'm sure, continue to trigger memories of my parents and my childhood, but in my heart I hold the most important thing - the love. It wells up in me when I recall sitting on my mother's lap as she rocked me, or remember watching my father teach my daughter to ride a bike. And that love is not something that the presence or absence of any item, big or small, can ever take away.
If I have the privilege of growing old, I'm sure at some point I will forget many things - but the love will always be there. I may not carry with me the memory of a face or a name, or of something I did or said, but I will carry with me the love. And even if I become angry because I am confused by the faces and places I do not recognize and the words I cannot recall, deep down, the love will linger on - the love I feel for my daughter, the love I've shared with family and friends.
The memories fade, but the love endures.
So this mother's day, hug the people you love, call someone you haven't talked to in awhile, drop a card to a friend or family member - and let them know you love them. You will give them a memory that will endure far longer than any bouquet or bauble ever could.
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