Keeper of the Memories
I was thinking the other day about the last time I saw my Granny. I’d just awakened from a nap and was in that semi-groggy, semi-paralyzed state that didn’t used to happen to me but now happens all the time. At first, I was thinking about my mom. Maybe I’d been dreaming about her, I don’t know. Suddenly, I was in Granny’s hospital room with my mom and my aunt. The three of us were there when Granny took in her last long ragged breath. It didn’t come out again. It was a very strange moment seeing a person you love here one minute and gone the next. Just like that.
Funny thing - I don’t remember flying to New Mexico with my mom. Granny was sick so we went. I don’t remember much about the trip, the visit, the funeral. I remember our initial visit when we first arrived. Later there was a night visit I see in my mind of the three of us - mamma, me, and my aunt - walking across the parking lot to the hospital, going into Granny’s room, standing next to her bed and watching her take that last breath. Like she’d been waiting for us. Maybe she had.
There’s no one left that shares that memory. Granny, my mom, my aunt - all gone. It’s just occurred to me that experience only lives in my head now.
Abigail Thomas recently wrote about memory in her Substack. I’ve been thinking about what she wrote which made me think about the memories I shared with my mom that no one knows. I think about things we did together and there are blanks I can’t fill no matter how hard I try. I’m the keeper of those memories and she’s not here to fill in the gaps. Write it down, people. Write it all down.
And don't forget to ask them questions. And keep the answers safe somewhere other than your memory, in case your memory is like mine-full of holes.
loved this, thank you.
My memory is very spotty so I appreciate posts like yours here and Abigail's. They remind me of why I feel the need the write, but also they reassure me that I'm not alone in that need.