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Middle Years
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What do you do when they just don't remember anymore? What can you say when the sweetest of memories - the events and occasions that have defined your relationship - now somehow elude them? Talk of memory loss usually focuses on the elderly, but I'm not talking about my parents. I'm talking about my kids. Recently, while reminiscing, I mentioned that one of my most cherished memories is riding the carousel at South Coast Plaza with my oldest son. It was a weekly ritual with us in the days when a ride cost 25 cents. As we approached the merry-go-round, my then-toddler son would start kicking his feet wildly in his stroller with anticipation. He'd laugh as the white stallion he rode would rise and fall. He'd wave to the kind old folks sitting on the bench in the mall as we passed them over and over again. And I would stand at his side, steadying him, taking as much delight in watching him as he found in the experience itself. Yet, my son has no memory of it. I show him photographs and he shrugs an "I'm sorry, I don't remember" shrug. While we shared the experience, it is my memory alone. My colleague, Lynn Armitage (OC Family Magazine's Single Parenthood columnist), recently shared that her two daughters don't recall the hours they spent sitting on her lap while she read to them. Lynn felt cheated. I understood. It's almost as if we "will" our children to remember, but as with both young and old, memory often fades. Is all the effort we put into creating memories a waste, I wondered. Then I thought of the response our priest gave to the following question from a parishioner. "Why should I come to church," the man asked, "when I can't remember from one Sunday to the next what you say?" The priest replied, "I can't remember what I had for dinner last Sunday, or even last night, but what I consumed then has sustained me until this week when I return once again to church." I thought about that as I tried to figure out what to do with my half of the memories of times with my son. He may not have any recollection of the event, but the times we've shared have sustained him, sustained me, as we've journeyed through this thing called a parent/child relationship. I only hope that when I reach my last days, he won't feel cheated by MY failing mind. I will tell him early on what my own mother told me. "Someday, when I'm older, I may not recognize you, but I'll never forget you." Senior Writer Kimberly A. Porrazzo can be reached at kimberlyporrazzo@cox.net. For Letters: ocfamily.com. |
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