My sisters and I always call my mother on November 2nd. Today, she asked me if I remembered the cakes we made for Daddy. "I gave you each a can of frosting and you decorated with lots and lots of sprinkles. Daddy always acted so surprised!" When I told her that no, unfortunately, I don't…
"Did you miss your father on your wedding day?" asked A. We stood on the back deck of another friend's new house, munching hot pizza. Two-year-olds in soft Halloween costumes (bear, dog, tutu) rode up and down the stairs in parents' arms, giving the illusion of a funicular. I watched the birthday boy, long free…
Everything we perceive, even for a fleeting moment, is committed—in tiny pieces across various parts of the brain—to memory. When a memory is called back up, it might be 100% accurate. Or it might not be. Pieces are jumbled like ornament hooks. A poem becomes entangled with the image of an old friend and catches…
“Above all, don’t forget. Commit everything – each blade of grass, each teary-eyed child, each unmarked grave – to memory. Then when you survive and are older, tell your story.”
Four years ago, I wrote an essay based on other people's memories. Months later, I watched rain ravage oak trees and send green leaves to an early death on the soaked lawn. I thought back to the essay then, and much, much further back, to my childhood, only to come up empty-handed as usual. (Not…
