Memories are funny things. Some are so vivid it’s like they happened just yesterday. Others tease and tantalize you with barely-there wisps of something so close that you can almost grasp them – but that scatter when you try.
I love looking through old photo albums. I am sure that memories are heightened – or even formed by photographs. I am sure that some of my childhood memories are only be “remembered” through family retelling plus a photo I’ve seen hundreds of times.
Memories can be made sweeter – or more bitter – with the passage of time. For me, my wedding and early years of marital bliss fall squarely into this category, but interestingly, the same memory can fall either way, depending on the day.
People can remember exactly the same scenario differently. Some of my exchange year memories are still so clear and full of meaning. And yet to some of those with whom I was a student, I’m sure I’m just a vague recollection of that not-quite-the-same-as-the-Americans Canadian girl who was with them for a year.
I have a distinct early memory I really shouldn’t have. I remember being woken up in what to me was the middle of the night. I remember being taken down into our basement rec room and watching a very grainy image on our little television. I can clearly picture myself wearing my dressing gown and sitting on the basement couch – little legs not even long enough to reach the edge. I clearly remember not understanding why this was important. Piecing it together decades later I realize it had to be the Apollo moon landing. I was just shy of two years old. My parents may even have bought the tv for this occasion. And recently, I learned that my “middle of the night” was not quite 11 pm.
Regardless, this made a huge impact on me. My brother was born less than a year later and I have only family stories – no distinct memories – to draw on – sorry Graham!!
However, I do remember driving to the hospital when he fell down a flight of stairs and broke his nose when we were building our cottage. I don’t remember the fall itself or what happened in the hospital – my memory is of the blood on my father’s big green winter coat that my brother must have been wrapped up in during the car ride.
I don’t remember my first day of school but I do remember knitting with the “big girls” when my Mum taught a knitting elective at my school. I couldn’t have been more than 6. Emotions elicit memories. A smell, a melody, a sound – all can take you back in an instant to somewhere old and familiar. A few years ago, I walked around a corner and past a bakery. The smell wafting out the open door transported me instantly back decades to when I ate that particular treat.
Memories sometimes elude us. I’ve had many a conversation where someone insists that I should “remember when…” and it’s a blank – until that get one tiny piece of information is offered that is the key to unlocking the door until it all comes flooding back.
Some people say you can have memories of precious lives. I’m not so sure about that, but I know I have a recurring the dream that is so real that it’s like a memory – and I know it hasn’t happened yet! One of my next challenges is making it come true!
What’s your most vibrant memory?
