“I Have No Memory of That”
The necessity of forgetting
Last night I got together with four of my best friends. We gathered to celebrate one of our birthdays. We’re all in our fifties now — some of us more solidly than others. We’re tamer than we once were, choosing mocktails over bottomless bottles of wine. Post-pandemic it’s enough to simply get together. We don’t need a weekend trip or a restaurant for it to feel special.
Last night we talked about memory — about dementia in particular. Several of us are noticing it in our parents. We’re at a place right now where we’re noticing it a little bit in ourselves too. Not necessarily dementia, but the loss of memory.
I remember some things so clearly, yet other experiences are completely gone. The other night our houseguests reminded me that we’d had a whole pig at our wedding. “Really?,” I’d exclaimed, “I have no memory of that.” I think I didn’t remember because of all the things on that momentous day, the food was the least important.
But I say that phrase all the time, “I have no memory of that.” My daughter worries that I have early Alzheimer’s. She wants me to get checked out. But there are no signs other than the fact that I simply don’t remember certain things.
I wonder if, over time, we simply adapt. The storage lockers of the mind get full and we…
