Ten years out
I lost my grandmother twenty years ago. I lost my mother ten years later. I lost my husband ten years later. So every ten years I lose someone close it seems. It has been difficult. I was very close to my grandmother and mother. Losing my husband is harder. With mom and grandmother, I lost the past and present; my husband, I lost the past, present, and future.
Today I found an old photograph. It was taken nearly 65 years ago. I held it gingerly, admiring the person who is my father. He told me that it was taken the day he was leaving town for the army and that his mother had asked him to stand still. Instead he raised his hand to say goodbye and it was that photograph I held now. I thought of that photograph and likened it to a fading memory. At one time the picture had been crisp. It's hard, black lines easy for anyone to see, but now, it was faded and needed to be restored before it was lost all together.
After I lost my mother, thoughts of her consumed my days and nights. I replayed the events of our lives: the day she took me to school. The day I graduaged college. The day I married. All these life events played in my mind in vivid detail. I could tell you what we ate, how we laughed. Now I hardly think of her and when I do, the memory is sort of faded. It's sort of like looking at an old photograph that is not as crisp as it once was. I've got years of happy memories of her, but I no longer miss her the way I once missed her. I noticed the same thing when grandmother died: ten years later I couldn't remember minute details of our lives together. One day, maybe ten years from now, the same will happen with my husband. I'll remember him, but the memories will be faded, minute details blowing in the wind. Perhaps this is a good thing. It is unimagineable to have this sort of pain the rest of my life. Still, it is somewhat distressing. I enjoy remembering the times we had together, but the memories cause pain. I'll think, last year at this time we went to a party at so-and-so's house. And I'll remember the minute details--what we ate, what we drank, what we said on the way home. Years ago, I could remember the same details with mom and before that I remembered the same details with grandmother. Now it would be difficult if not impossible.
It's strange about new memories too. Sometimes, after my mother passed, I'd swear we saw a certain movie together. Of course, it was impossible since the movie was made years after she'd passed. I guess I just felt her presence with me. Or maybe it was a deep desire to have her there with me.
The same is starting to happen with my husband, mostly early events after his passing. I'd wonder was he here when the volcano happened or some other event occurred. It's a strange feeling.
Now I think of ten years from now and have questions. I will be 63 then, maybe retired. And there's even a remote chance that I could have remarried(haven't asked God about that one yet). At that time, how much will I remember? Will I remember the touch of his hand, the feel of his arms around me? Will I remember his smile? Will I remember the way he looked at me? Or will it be like a faded photograph, each year the image less clear? But what if I can restore the image. What if I can recapture the exact feelings and memories I have now. Is it a good idea?
I think widows/widowers desperately try to hold on to memories. We do this by reminising, at least I do. Sometimes I'll spend hours thinking of the time we went to a concert. I'll pay special attention to small details. Is it because I'm afraid to forget? And if I continue on this course, will I spend my life forever locked in the past, never moving past 2010?
Is this such a bad possibility?
Today I found an old photograph. It was taken nearly 65 years ago. I held it gingerly, admiring the person who is my father. He told me that it was taken the day he was leaving town for the army and that his mother had asked him to stand still. Instead he raised his hand to say goodbye and it was that photograph I held now. I thought of that photograph and likened it to a fading memory. At one time the picture had been crisp. It's hard, black lines easy for anyone to see, but now, it was faded and needed to be restored before it was lost all together.
After I lost my mother, thoughts of her consumed my days and nights. I replayed the events of our lives: the day she took me to school. The day I graduaged college. The day I married. All these life events played in my mind in vivid detail. I could tell you what we ate, how we laughed. Now I hardly think of her and when I do, the memory is sort of faded. It's sort of like looking at an old photograph that is not as crisp as it once was. I've got years of happy memories of her, but I no longer miss her the way I once missed her. I noticed the same thing when grandmother died: ten years later I couldn't remember minute details of our lives together. One day, maybe ten years from now, the same will happen with my husband. I'll remember him, but the memories will be faded, minute details blowing in the wind. Perhaps this is a good thing. It is unimagineable to have this sort of pain the rest of my life. Still, it is somewhat distressing. I enjoy remembering the times we had together, but the memories cause pain. I'll think, last year at this time we went to a party at so-and-so's house. And I'll remember the minute details--what we ate, what we drank, what we said on the way home. Years ago, I could remember the same details with mom and before that I remembered the same details with grandmother. Now it would be difficult if not impossible.
It's strange about new memories too. Sometimes, after my mother passed, I'd swear we saw a certain movie together. Of course, it was impossible since the movie was made years after she'd passed. I guess I just felt her presence with me. Or maybe it was a deep desire to have her there with me.
The same is starting to happen with my husband, mostly early events after his passing. I'd wonder was he here when the volcano happened or some other event occurred. It's a strange feeling.
Now I think of ten years from now and have questions. I will be 63 then, maybe retired. And there's even a remote chance that I could have remarried(haven't asked God about that one yet). At that time, how much will I remember? Will I remember the touch of his hand, the feel of his arms around me? Will I remember his smile? Will I remember the way he looked at me? Or will it be like a faded photograph, each year the image less clear? But what if I can restore the image. What if I can recapture the exact feelings and memories I have now. Is it a good idea?
I think widows/widowers desperately try to hold on to memories. We do this by reminising, at least I do. Sometimes I'll spend hours thinking of the time we went to a concert. I'll pay special attention to small details. Is it because I'm afraid to forget? And if I continue on this course, will I spend my life forever locked in the past, never moving past 2010?
Is this such a bad possibility?
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