This morning I woke at dawn with the first rays of sun through my window. I was so cozy in my bed surrounded by pillows, my weight nestled into the mattress, not wanting to move lest I interrupt my comfort. I lie there thinking about my day, my life, my family and my constant worry about my ever failing memory. In my quest for peace of mind about getting older I thought about all of the things in my life that I want to remember.
I want to remember the joy I felt as a child camping with my family. The happiness at finally arriving at our destination. The rush to get everything set up so we could go find some new friends. The camp food, campfires, toasted marshmallows, singing and laughing. My Dad at his most relaxed.
I want to remember my mom’s voice, her face, her mannerisms, her laughter, her kindness.
I want to remember the deep and intense feeling of first love. Loving someone for the first time and for the first time being loved back.
I want to remember meeting my husband at Camp Starlight when our love was so new. The first sign of interest, the first kiss, sharing our stories, sharing our dreams, trying to find every minute we could be together.
I want to remember what it was like to carry a baby inside of me. My body changing so dramatically, the kicks and the hiccups, the larger than life breasts! The inability to believe I was really growing a human being.
I want to remember my sons’ early days of childhood innocence. The dirty faces, the constant questions, the giggles, the delight, the need to be close to me, the ability to curl into my body as if we were one.
I want to remember what it felt like to face my fears and jump out of an airplane. The sound of the wind as I fell through air, the silence as we floated to the ground and the unbelievable sense of accomplishment once we landed tears springing to my eyes, unable to express my joy.
I want to remember the adrenalin rush I used to get when I did a public speech. Stepping up to the podium with butterflies in my stomach, my body slowly relaxing as I relaxed into my message until I felt the excitement in the audience inspired by my talk.
I want to remember the difference I made in peoples’ lives as a Director of Nursing for a long term care facility during Covid. Working 6-7 days a week, 10-12 hour days with my reward being that I kept everyone safe.
I want to remember the first time I had one of my stories published. The doubt about my writing abilities being lifted even for a minute, the satisfaction of knowing that someone else appreciated what I wrote.
But then came all the things in my life I want to forget.
I want to forget the feeling that I was not loved by my siblings when I was very young. How I always felt like I didn’t belong to this family. How different I felt, convinced I had been adopted.. The black sheep of the family.
I want to forget the severe ache in my chest, feeling of devastation and inability to function when after five years together I was dumped by my first love.
I want to forget the day I heard the devastating news that my brother and sister-in-law had lost their baby. The ache in my heart, the sudden tears at unexpected times, the feeling of helplessness.
I want to forget how intense I was as a young mother. Reacting to the stress of motherhood, the juggling, the loss of self, the deep concern for my kids and taking it out on people who didn’t deserve it.
I want to forget the day I sat helpless in a hospital room with my devastated sister as we watched over her husband who was in a coma.
I want to forget the way I sobbed alone in a hotel room the day after my mothers’ funeral after everyone else had gone. Lost, lonely, overcome with grief.
I want to forget the fear I felt when my third son went through the surgery doors to have his hand repaired after a bad accident. Holding my husband close and trying to believe all would be well but knowing too much about what could go wrong.
I want to forget how foreign I felt to myself when I was going through menopause. The afternoons of quietly sobbing in my room, the flashes of anger, the roller coaster ride of emotions. Wondering what or who had taken over my body and my mind because I no longer recognized myself. The fear that I would forever be like this.
I want to forget the pain I felt post surgery. The inability to move even the slightest without having pain shoot through my hip and nausea threaten to overcome me. The concern in my husband and son’s eyes as they made the decision to call an ambulance.
I want to forget the anger I felt when I was falsely accused at work. The sense of betrayal, the inability to clear my name, the desire to flee. Being forced out of that job after giving my heart and soul for two years.
I want to remember to forget.