MEMORIES - THE THREAD OF LIFE
February 2014
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 the
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.
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