What is the most important thing to carry with you all the time?
I’m a hypocrite because I don’t make enough memories in my life with my family or those I care about. I’ve always hated cameras and flashes – it mostly stemmed from a childhood fear of one of R.L. Stein’s Goosebumps book about the haunted camera – and I never liked seeing my own face.
Although, I guess I’d rather live through the memories than be included in the memories. I’ve always believed that my presence, even among family, tends to spoil the fun and experience. I’ve gotten good at being an observer because I know what it’s like to have someone very close to me lose their memories, themselves, in real time.
Despite my personal feelings, the reason I chose memories is because I grew up with my paternal grandpa who had Alzheimer’s. As a kid, I didn’t understand why my Papa couldn’t remember much and my family told me to be patient because he couldn’t remember. You can’t tell a kid to do something when, at such young ages, it’s instinct to be impulsive and impatient.
On the days he forgot, it hurt because it was as though, as a kid, my Papa could remember to do his chores, walk to McDonald’s to get his coffee, and get home safely, but not remember us.
Sadly, I wasn’t the most behaved kid and I would do really stupid things like, locking the house door from the inside and watching him try to force the door open until my grandma would tell me to open the door. After I did, my grandpa would walk in, see me, and nothing else.
I even remember when I would sleep in my grandma’s living room and I was woken up because my head was hurting, like someone was taking a hammer to my skull, and it had been my Papa hitting my head like I was a pillow because: 1)it was dark; 2)he couldn’t recognize or remember me.
Even though it’s been years since I thought about him, he passed away in 2009 and I was just entering intermediate school, I think I’m thinking of him because my maternal grandpa passed away last month.
He was still young – in his mid-sixties – he loved to cook, sing, play cards and make up his own rules to play, he told me stories of his time in the Army, his regrets, and how he would have done things differently if he had the chance.
Now, I have both of my grandma’s still alive, but because I’ve been working so hard I haven’t made time to hang out with them or my family.
My paternal grandma is in her early 80’s, still sound of mind and body, and maternal grandma is in her late 60’s, still sound of mind and body too.
I fear that something will happen to my paternal grandma because I moved out, even though I tend to call her, I haven’t called her in a while. Even to my other grandma, hell, even to my parents.
My mom likes taking pictures, I found them a waste of time, but as I’m getting older I’m starting to see their significance. As I get older, so does everyone else, and the amount of time I’ll get to listen to my family’s stories grow smaller and smaller, but even memories will slowly fade with time.
I can’t remember much of my time with my Papa anymore and my Grandpa’s stories are slowly fading because I didn’t hang out with him as much as he wanted. I’d try, but I also didn’t make much effort either.
I don’t know what anyone is going through, but if you have people in your life you still care about: call them, tell them you love them, something. Anything, especially if they do matter to you. My family doesn’t say a lot of things enough, we’re not ones for words of affirmation but through actions, but I can share that, from my experience, it does make a difference.
I’m still working on this myself as I’m learning to navigate my own life as I’m approaching my new life stage of 30. Not there yet, but making memories is all we’ll have, even if we forget them, it’ll come back to us when we need them.
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