MEMORIES - THE THREAD OF LIFE

The past is not something we can leave behind.  Even when we think we have, our memories, those remembered and those not, remain tucked away in the attics of our mind.  Some are buried deeply in boxes never opened and covered with years of dust, and others are strewn about, easily retrievable on demand.  Then there are those special ones, carefully kept in gilded, ornate boxes that we lovingly open from time to time, and finally there are those well-worn memories that we hold close to us and keep by our bedside as a constant companion.  Remembered or not, these snippets from our lives are always with us.  Memories create threads running through our lives, weaving a fabric of continuity and meaning that help us navigate the future.  If our lives were books, memories would be the table of contents, directing us to a particular place and time.

It seems to be universal, the older we get the more we want to remember our past, and the events and circumstances that helped create who we are.  They become increasingly important, and we cherish them, albeit selectively.  Psychologists remind us that our memories are filtered by time, and cannot be taken as literal historic truths.  Filtered or selective, their importance to understanding our selves cannot be denied, and they remain a vital part of the journey.

It was only after I reached adulthood that I realized how fortunate I was to have the parents and family that I did, and as a result, with very few exceptions, I have only good memories.  Not everyone has been so fortunate, and I wonder how people deal with the pain and sorrow of bad memories as they make their way in life.  Can they coexist with happiness and better circumstances, or do they have to be repressed and forgotten. 

Memories help us understand who we are, by showing us where we have been, revealing how the person we are has unfolded from what we were.  They enable us to see the past with the wisdom of gathered years, often revising our impressions and allowing us to see what we may have missed the first time around.

I cherish my memories, holding them fast and close to me, even more as the years accumulate (something they inevitably do).  I’m aware that the very old seem to go back into time, reliving the distant past.  That gives me comfort; I look forward to pulling up long forgotten stories.