Memories

I read an article in today's newspaper about the effects of dementia on the family. A woman's father was developing dementia and gradually losing memory of his past life...her past life. She felt as though her life was slowly being chipped away.

My daughter and I had a similar discussion just last week. She had become curious about my ancestors...parents, grandparents, great-grandparents...and there was much I couldn't tell her. Names have become foggy in my fairly normal memory but I've become the elder in my own family so there's no-one to ask. There was no-one left alive who remembered the circumstances of my birth, my first day at school, or even my childhood. I had to rely on my memory of what I'd been told but my memory isn't my strong suit.

We visited the cemetary where my great-grandfather, great-grandmother, their stillborn child, my grandmother, my mother, and her stillborn child are buried. I told my daughter all that I'd been told about their stories. This was her ancestry, too. I don't remember my great-grandparents but my grandmother raised me and I can still see her clearly in my mind. She was an extremely interesting woman who I never truly appreciated until she was gone. That's the way it often goes.

My birth father disappeared from my mother's life when he discovered she was pregnant and I never did meet him. His loss. I've always had this silly fantasy in my mind that he'd grow old and lonely and come looking for me. Maybe even leave me millions of remorse dollars in his will. Well, if he's still alive, he'd be in his early 90's by now. There's still time, I guess, but it would be a miracle. The truth is that it would be nice to meet him and look into the other half of me...millions or not.