Memory — Fleeting or Not

Memory is strange.

I recently went to a swim center with my son-in-law to help set up a class for his boys. We used to go there when our girls were young. We swam there many times, though that was about forty years ago. To me, it looked somewhat different from what I remembered. My son-in-law said they haven’t changed it.

That made me wonder how many things in our lives aren’t really cemented into memory the way we think they are, but instead show up later, somewhat distorted. My wife’s childhood home was firmly locked into her memory, yet when we pulled it up on Google Street View, she said, “That’s not how I remember it.” Some changes may have been made over the years, but the basic structure would not have changed. Still, her memory held a different version.

I have a strong remembrance of my own childhood, partially because certain losses and difficult moments seem to cement memories in place. I remember times when I was sick or hurt. Once, I developed hives, which we thought were caused by strawberries from our garden. Dad plowed them up just in case. I stayed at my grandparents’ house for a few days until it cleared.

I remember being about four years old, hurting from something I didn’t understand, sitting in the living room with my parents. I can still picture the furniture. I remember going to the doctor the next day for what turned out to be a somewhat painful procedure.

I remember the dentist’s office when I was four or five, and when I think of it now, I remember the smell more than anything. Back then, Novocaine wasn’t used. It was a dry drill instead of a wet one, along with the burning smell to go with it.

Sometimes I sit and try to remember all the dogs we had over the years. I recall most of them, and nearly all are buried on our hill. Cats are a different story. On the farm, we had so many, but the special ones still stand out clearly.

Not long ago, I was having lunch with two dear friends, and we laughed about how we’ll walk from one room to another and forget what we went there for. I’ve heard that walking through a doorway can cause a thought to leave us, as the mind resets when entering a new space. Supposedly, if you hold the thought as you move through the doorway, it stays. The problem is remembering to do that — lol.

I suppose that’s part of what it means to stay present. I tell my wife all the time that when she sets something down, she should pause and say in her mind, “This is where I’m putting it,” then look at it before walking away. That advice is easier to give than to follow.

I think we all carry memories of school — and of the people who made certain moments uneasy. They probably didn’t realize they were creating lasting memories at the time. I remember a few teachers quite well, and others who didn’t make enough of an impression to stick.

We once had a study hall in what was called the little theater, overseen by two buddy teachers. A few troublemakers made their job difficult. One teacher would lose his temper and shout, while the other stood back with a smile. Neither approach worked very well, and they weren’t taken very seriously. But I often wonder — is that how everyone else in the room remembers it?

That’s what memory does. When someone says, “I remember when…” I’ve learned to understand that what follows is how they remember it. That doesn’t mean someone else would remember it the same way.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be someone who remembers everything — who can recall minute-by-minute details of their life. I try to review my day before going to sleep at night, and even that can be difficult some days. Memory or not, I keep chugging along.

I love reading and have hundreds of books, not to mention a hundred or so on Kindle. Yet when I pick one up a year or two later, recalling it clearly can be tough. Once I start rereading, though, I’ll suddenly remember having read it before and end up skimming. I suspect that much of what we experience is retained somewhere in the subconscious.

Hypnotherapists claim this through regression. Scripture refers to a “book of life” — a full record of one’s journey. Near-death experiencers often describe a life review, where they re-experience their actions and even feel the emotions of those they affected, for good or for ill. Many say this changes them, making them more loving and aware.

Memories matter. Without them, I don’t think we could truly share life’s stories or maintain deep relationships. Relationships grow stronger through the shared remembrance of what each person has lived through to arrive at the present moment.