Remember the Main

I asked Mom during her final stay a the hospital what the house she lived in down in Arkansas was like. Mom said, "Sure! I will never forget that house!" She said it was "L"shaped and had a porch, and she tried to draw it out for me on some paper. After many starts and stops, she was suddenly devastated. "I don't know how to draw it. I don't remember."

Mom had Lewy Body Dementia, which I wrote about in a previous blog.

I wish I had asked earlier.

Years ago, in the days of Friday Night at the Movies on TV, my best friend and I both fell in love with a movie about two women out west. The gals in the film were fierce and strong and determined. The only scene I can recall today is the one woman hiking up her dress and stepping on the plunger
on the detonator, I believe she blew up a train. We said we would never forget, we lived our lives to the theme music of that movie for the summer.

You know, I have never been able to find the title of that movie?

Some people live forward, not hanging on to the little memories. They live for tomorrow and don't grieve on the way for their losses. I am not one of these people. I remember and hang on desperately to memories that make up who I am. From our Siamese Missy chasing off the big dog by simply walking sideways towards it, to the morning Sarge, my brother's beagle, played with a fox in the sunrise. From the whole family crowding in the root cellar during a bad storm to riding my great uncle Ray's shoulders for my first home run ever.

The same way my Mom made her first home run, the same uncle.

I remember the sky on my birthday, the horrible redness of it as a neighbor's house burned down.

I can remember the voices of my aunts and uncles who have passed on, but I don't remember what Dad sounded like other than when he was trying to wake us kids up.

"EEEEYYYUUUUUUUUPPP!!!! Daylight in the swamp!"

Why can't I remember his voice?

Sometimes my memories don't match anyone else's who were there with me. I am the youngest of four siblings, and my point of view is sometimes drastically different from theirs.

Same thing with cousins, they all used to come to our house over the years. Might as well have made this place WemRu's Acres Campsite and Eats! (WemRu, by the way, stands for Ward E Maginity, Wem, and Ruth Maginity, Ru. Clever, right?) Both sides of the family, from Michigan, Chicago, Arkansas, and beyond. When we swap stories these days, I find that they all remember things WRONG. (It can't possibly be me who isn't remembering correctly!)

There have been times in my life where whole time periods are blocked, gone, not to be remembered. I hate that! It is like looking at a painting that has blotches of white canvas interrupting the flow. What happened? Why can't I remember? This is made even more terrifying by the threat of dementia. By the fact that I am not remembering things like I should be.

You would think that with all the digital pictures that are being taken these days, that memory keeping would be improving. Don't think so. Too many people are focused on selfies than on what is around them. It is kind of heartbreaking to see more campgrounds are getting wifi. Will people ever remember to live in the moment?

But I digress. I often do.

It is scary, watching someone go away from us while still alive. Someone remembering years ago with no connection to the here and now. It is scary, and then I start having mental blocks, brain fog, or whatever you call it. These aberrations look like dementia to me, and I have looked dementia int he face a time or two.

So, writing helps to press memories to pages so that they can be found later on. Like pressed flowers and dried corsages. Years past, memories were treated with more respect. Memories could be found between pages of the family bible, or in the big dictionaries. Score cards from past yahtzee games or card games held memories. A piece of petoskey stone. A song, a scent, a texture. Albums of old photos. Stories.

Word by word, I will hold on to the memories. I will remember.