Memories and blessings

Memories and blessings

Every once in a while something triggers the thought that there are many things I'm going to miss in this life. It usually starts out when I am petting one of my cats, or gazing at the mountains on a particularly clear day, or talking on the phone with a relative. But lately it always ends up with the image of Greg and me crying the night we first broke down about my prognosis. We wept together, speechlessly, at the dining table on the patio just as it was getting dark. I have never seen Greg so broken, sad, and afraid. It very nearly broke me in half. I hope I never see that look on his face again. But I know I will.

I remember the first time it occurred to me just how important memories are. I've always been the type to dwell on bad memories, criticizing myself and replaying the memories of regretful mistakes over and over in my mind. I'd always wished I could selectively recall only the good things, and just let the bad things go to the wayside, as long as I've already learned their lessons. I thought that life would be better if it were filled only with the memories of good times, successful choices, admirable acts, and kind or thoughtful words.

Even the negative memories are crucial to the balance of a meaningful life. The seemingly simple function of recording and retrieving a memory is actually an amazing thing. Memories are carved into the brain like grooves, and the more often a memory is retrieved (recalled), the deeper and stronger that wrinkle becomes. So why don't we do that more often with the happy memories, so they can be retained accurately and clearly long into old age? (Perhaps some of us are better at this than others!) But the reality is that even the unpleasant memories are sweet and enriching, in a bizarre way, partly because they trigger strong emotions that are sharp reminders that we are alive and human, but also because they play such a great role in shaping our ultimate character. On a more basic level, memory is just another function of the human body, any one of which may fail eventually and we miss it when it's gone. After watching my mother gradually lose the ability to recall her memories accurately, I came to the blunt realization that the simple ability to recall something -- anything -- is a blessing, even a luxury.